Story of The Triad
by MufasaToSoar
Summary: Three siblings. Three paths. One destiny. Follow the story of an Argonian Dragonborn, complete with troubling past, all the way from Helgen. Rated T for violence, blood and rather colourful language. Bethesda owns Skyrim. I only own the OCs.
1. Chapter 1: Helgen on the outside

G'day readers, MufasaToSoar here. Ummmm... first of all, this is one of my first Fanfictions. You can find me on DeviantArt (as Simsy658). Second, this was made on an iPad. Before I forget, reviews are welcome, but keep them positive and/or helpful.

Thanks!

There was a sound of something. Sounds of wood travelling across gravel. She was faintly aware of her sitting upright against wood. She tried to reach up to her pounding head but her hands were tied together at the wrists.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake!" Someone said.

Witseva a looked towards the source of the voice. A rugged Nord, blonde hair and beard, was looking towards her. Witseva caught the his lips move at the last part.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" He asked.

'Shut up, Nord. Or I'll kill you later.' Witseva thought, baring her teeth.

"Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there." He continued, motioning his head over to his left.

Witseva looked over, seeing a fancily dressed Nord male with a gag and a Redguard male in similar attire like herself.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I'd have stolen that horse and halfway to Hammerfell." The Redguard complained.

Witseva was surprised. Usually thieves go to jail if they are caught, something she knows all too well. She didn't catch the last part of his talk.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Nord retorted.

"Shut up back there!" The Imperial soldier shouted.

Witseva looked over to the carriage in front of theirs, and saw another group of people of both genders wearing the same outfit as the Nord to her left.

'This is going to be a very long day.' Witseva thought.

They rode into a fortress soon enough. More words and orders were exchanged before the carts just stopped somewhere.

"Wh- Why are we stopping?" The Redguard asked, clearly nervous.

"What do you think? End of the line." The Nord replied before everyone in the cart stood up and got off the cart.

Witseva tuned out the Redguard's cries, but she knew they fell on deaf ears. She was more concentrated on not falling over.

"Walk over there when we call your name! One at a time!" An imperial lady, obviously the one in charge, ordered.

The four paid attention to the Nord soldier in front of them.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Witseva was surprised. She tuned out the conversation on the carriage. The Nord with the gag left the small line and walked over to an executioner's block.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The blonde Nord left the line.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir shouted before dashing off. He was shot by the archers in the ankle, but died due to a hit in the neck after.

Witseva was so absorbed by the stupidity of the Redguard that she almost missed the order for her to step forward.

"Who are you?" The Nord asked.

"My name is Witseva Cadorees." The Argonian female replied in a raspy tone, which is her normal voice.

Witseva has dark brown scales with red highlights along her neck and mouth. Her eyes were an odd shade of blue slits. On top of her head there was hair, although it looked a lot like leaves and were coloured green.

"You a relative of one of the Riften dock workers, Argonian?" The Nord joked, earning himself a snarl from Witseva.

He leant over to the heavily armoured Imperial soldier. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." He whispered.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block." The Captain answered.

'That's odd. Usually Imperial soldiers follow the code of conduct.' Witseva thought.

"By your orders Captain." He said before turning to Witseva. "I'm sorry, Witseva Cadorees. We'll make sure your remains return to Black Marsh."

'NO! Don't send me back! I've worked so hard to get away from there!' Witseva thought.

He took a breath, "Follow the Captain, prisoner." He continued.

Witseva kept snarling, even when following the Captain to the small circle. She saw Ulfric being talked to by some important Imperial.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." He said.

Ulfric grumbled his reply.

"YOU started this war! Plunged Skyrim into CHAOS! Now the Empire is going to PUT YOU DOWN, and RESTORE the peace!"

They heard an unnatural roar in the distance. Everyone looked everywhere to find the source. They couldn't find it.

"Did you hear that?" One Imperial soldier asked.

"It's nothing. Carry on." The important soldier said.

"Yes, General Tullius." The Captain said.

Witseva marked the important person as the General. There was obvious friction between Ulfric and Tullius.

"Give them their last rites." The Captain ordered to a priest standing beside the executioner.

"When we grant your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-" The priest chanted, raising her hands in the air.

Witseva silently groaned. She always hated the Cyrodillian religion. Being raised in the Black Marsh, as one of the last Shadowscales, she followed the ways of the Hist.

"For the love of Talos, SHUT UP and let's get this OVER WITH!" A red-haired Nord interrupted.

"As you wish." The priest said, being very sarcastic to him.

The Captain walked behind the Nord and started to get him ready for the execution.

"COME ON! I haven't got all morning!" The Nord taunted.

He was pushed down to his knees and pushed even more so that his head was on the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He informed, before he was permanently silenced by the beheading from the headsman's axe.

The prisoners stood in silence. Witseva stood stoically, as she was used to death due to her time as being an assassin and a thief.

"YOU IMPERIAL BASTARDS!" The only other female prisoner yelled out.

"JUSTICE!" One of the local villagers yelled out.

"DEATH TO THE STORMCLOAKS!" Another local yelled.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life." Ralof said, looking towards his now headless comrade.

"Next, the lizard." The Captain ordered, gesturing towards Witseva.

Another unnatural roar was heard.

"There it is again. Did you hear it?" The Imperial Nord soldier said.

"I said, next prisoner!"

He sighed and turned to Witseva, who was snarling at whoever caught her eye, white teeth showing out of black scales.

"To the block, Witseva. Nice and easy."

'At least he is a lot more caring. He is truly sorry.' Witseva thought. 'I must resign to this fate. I hope no one will miss me.'

She walked forward, most of her walking ability was stunted due to her hands being bound. She turned to face the soldier, who still had the unhappy look on his white face.

'Stay strong, sister. At least you will no longer be sad to have an assassin in the family.' Witseva thought, thinking of the second reason why she came to Skyrim.

She was forced down onto the block, and none too gently. It was there that she saw the strangest thing. A huge, black, flying monster was seen.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" Tullius asked.

The thing landed on top of the tower that was in Witseva's view. It's landing sent shock waves through the ground, tipping the headsman onto his stomach.

"DRAGON!" The female prisoner said.

'Well, that answers your question, General. Now, how am I going to get out of here?' Witseva thought.

The executioner stood back up, only to be sent down again by the dragon's magic. The sky turned red and flaming rocks started to fall from the sky. Witseva was faintly aware of someone pulling her off of the block and General Tullius yelling.

"Argonian! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

She looked around for who said that voice.

That blonde Nord! She remembers his name as Ralof.

"THIS WAY!" He yelled, running off towards a still standing tower.

Witseva ran behind Ralof, everything exploding around her. She got into the tower and Ulfric closed the door behind her.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked, seemingly forgetting that the first question was answered before they got in there.

"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric answered, his voice surprisingly calm.

Ulfric dared to open the door a crack. He closed it after a the look.

"We need to move! NOW!" Ulfric ordered.

"Up through the tower! Let's go!" Ralof said to Witseva, gesturing towards the stairs.

They ran up, stopping when the dragon head butted a hole through the wall and spat fire into the whole. Witseva was aware of it faintly speaking before filling the hole with flames.

When the dragon was gone, the two walked up to the hole.

"See the inn on the other side?" Ralof asked.

"Yes." Witseva answered.

"Jump through the roof and keep going."

"You can't be serious!"

"GO! We'll follow you when we can!"

Witseva psyched herself up. She called on her experiences as a thief to do so, since she used to do all manner of stuff.

She walked back a bit before running up and leaping towards the hole.

'I'm not going to make it.' Witseva thought, all the way in the the first quarter of the jump.

She landed on the inside of the burnt roof. She got a bit dirty but dismissed it for a second. Witseva continued through the roof and fell through the burnt hole made and her knees hit the wooden floor. Pain coursed through her body at the hard contact.

'Have to... keep going.' Witseva thought, standing up although it was clumsy.

She ran out into a open space. Immediately, she wanted to go into some shadow that hung around the edges of the space. She saw the Nord Imperial soldier. He got a boy out of the way but he couldn't save an older man from being scorched point blank.

He noticed Witseva. "Still alive, Witseva?" He asked.

"I am standing here in front of you." She answered.

"Stay close to me if you want to stay that way."

"Not like I have much of a choice."

He turned around to the two behind him. "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defence."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." Gunnar mumbled, Witseva hearing it fully.

Hadvar and Witseva walked off towards a broken wall. On the way, she saw the severely burnt corpse of the Nord kid's father.

"He was Torolf. He was a lumberjack who lived here in Helgen. We still need to keep moving though." Hadvar said, noticing Witseva mourning the corpse.

They continued on, coming up to the wall to the inner garrison. There were screams of terror and pain erupting all over Helgen. The kind that would leave mental scars and midnight terrors for months to come.

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar ordered. No sooner as he said it, the dragon's wing claw hooked onto the wall between them.

"Yol.. Toor Shul!" A plume of fire was sent from it's mouth after saying that.

'So it is speaking some kind of spell. But what is he saying? I've never heard of it before.' Witseva thought.

The dragon flew off and the two continued after they were sure it did. They went through the burnt remains of a house and into a courtyard. There, they saw Imperial archers and mages firing all sorts of projectiles at the dragon.

The two kept moving through, ignoring the cries and complaints of the dragon's victims and information. They came up to the inner garrison.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

'Sovn-what? Nords have some weird traditions.' Witseva thought after hearing the argument.

The two Nords ran off towards separate doors of the keep.

"Come on, you! With me!" Ralof called out towards Witseva.

"With me, Witseva! Into the keep!" Hadvar subsequently yelled.

Witseva stood dumbfounded. She was stuck. Which man to go with? The dragon knocked an archer off of the parapets. Witseva ran towards Hadvar. He opened the door for her to run into and, after running in, locked the door.


	2. Chapter 2: Helgen's Keep

**Hello once again. Gone off on a good start, which is always good to happen. Here is the next chapter. Here's hoping you'd like it. I have left some bits out because, if I kept it to how it goes, well, it would be well over a few thousand words and I like keeping the chapters short. Without further ado, I am out of here and enjoy.**

Hadvar and Witseva came into what looked like a dorm for the Imperial soldiers. They stopped to catch their breath.

"That... thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just the the stories and the legends. The bringers of the End Times." Hadvar informed.

"Stories? Legends?" Witseva asked.

"I'll tell you later, Witseva. Right now, let me see if I could get those bindings off of you." Hadvar answered.

Hadvar came up to Witseva. She felt the restraints getting strained, and fall away. Hadvar cut the bindings off with an iron dagger. Witseva subconsciously rubbed the scales on her sore wrists.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Witseva. There might be some equipment in that chest over there."

Witseva walked over to the chest and opened it. She saw an Imperial soldier' light armour, an iron sword and a key. She picked everything up and put the armour on, feeling relieved to be out of the ragged clothing. The feeling of the sword was partly foreign to her, as she was accustomed to daggers.

"You done?" Hadvar asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Witseva answered.

"Right. Let's go."

Hadvar opened up the door to a hallway. They jogged through it, ending in a gate and some of those prisoners on the other side.

"Can we... stop for a bit? I need to... catch my breath." One of the prisoners said.

"Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them." Hadvar informed, earning a curious stare from Witseva.

Hadvar opened the door and both calmly walked through.

"Can we just talk for a-" Hadvar tried to say, before the Stormcloaks attacked.

Both Stormcloaks branded two handed weapons. The female had a greatsword and the male had a war hammer. Hadvar took the Stormcloak with the war hammer on and that left the two females to fight.

Witseva held the iron sword tight, knowing full well what would happen if it were to get hit in a loose grip. The greatsword was swung, but Witseva dodged it. The female Stormcloak just kept swinging at Witseva, and she either parried or dodged the powerful swings.

The great sword was raised up high. Now was the time to strike. Witseva rushed forward and sent the tip through the female's throat. A look of shock was upon the Stormcloak. She dropped the sword, making it clang loudly as it hit the ground. Witseva yanked the sword out, spraying blood everywhere. Witseva's face, arm and torso was covered in the Nord's blood. Hadvar just finished with the other Stormcloak with a few shield bashes when he turned towards Witseva. He saw the aftermath of the brutality, with all the blood on the floor and on Witseva herself.

"Now, Hadvar. If you would so kindly, tell me who these 'Stormcloaks' are?" Witseva asked, wiping her sword on the corpse in front to her and sheathing it.

"Why do you ask?"

"I've been living in Black Marsh and, in Black Marsh, we don't hear news coming from the other provinces a lot."

"The Stormcloaks are a rebel group fighting to bring Talos back. I forgot to ask, are you familiar with the Divines?"

Witseva shook her head.

"Before the Great War, there were Nine Divines. Mara, Akatosh, Zenithar, Dibella, Arkay, Julianos, Kynareth, Stendarr and Talos were their names. The Thalmor, since they won the Great War, denounced Talos as a god. The Stormcloaks fight to bring Talos back, as they call themselves 'true Nords.'" Hadvar explained.

"You Men and Mer and this stupid religion." Witseva grumbled, shaking her head.

There was a door at the other end of the room. The two walked over to it. Hadvar tried to open the door.

"Damn it. It's locked."

Witseva silently stepped up and pushed Hadvar out of the way. Hadvar saw that Witseva had a key in her hand. She put the key into the lock. It fitted perfectly. She twisted it and the deadbolt moved away.

"It's locked no more." Witseva said.

She looked over at the corpses of the Stormcloaks. She spotted a dagger similar to the one Hadvar used on both of them. She took them both, putting the iron sword away for now. Finally feeling better, she walked over to Hadvar, who was on the other side of the door.

"Come on. Let's get out of here before the dragon brings the tower down on top of us." He said with a strange calm.

She followed Hadvar down the spiral staircase. She was aware of a faint rumbling sound while she was on the stairs. When they reached the hallway at the bottom, a bunch of rocks and debris fell from the roof and crashing onto the floor, blocking the hallway.

Witseva noticed a door leading off to the side. She also heard some faint noises when she put her head up against it. She opened it carefully, her assassin training coming back. She saw two Stormcloaks, both male. One had a shield and an axe, the other had two maces.

"What are you doing? We need to get out of here!" The one closest to her said.

"The Imperials left some potions in these barrels. I just need to get them." The other replied, searching through the barrel closest to him.

Witseva snuck her way over to the one arguing with his buddy to get out. Before she tried to slit his throat, she took out both of her daggers. She threw the one in her left hand towards the one at the barrels. It missed, lodging itself in the wall behind the barrels.

The Stormcloak turned around, maces drawn. He saw his comrade's throat being cut, an Argonian, brown as dirt, held the dagger that did the deed. He contemplated that the Argonian was female, as it had a different body structure to the regular dockworkers at Windhelm. She swapped the dagger to the left hand and drawing a sword with her right.

"I am Witseva Cadorees. Meet your death." She said, blue slits trained carefully on him.

The Stormcloak took several deep breaths. "FOR SKYRIM!" He yelled out, charging the short distance towards the Argonian.

When she was in range, the Stormcloak swung the mace in his left hand. The Argonian weaved under it, slicing the iron sword across but hit a part that was protected by a few pieces of steel. In response, the Stormcloak swung the right mace to the left.

The mace made contact with the Argonian's upper arm. A scream was followed by the hit. The Stormcloak smiled a bit at the pain he made, and tried to finish the Argonian off but his mind was directed to something sticking out of his chest. He looked down and saw the tip of an Imperial blade sticking out the front. It was pulled out, and the Stormcloak's soul made it's way to Sovngarde.

Witseva was still in pain, clutching her right arm. One of the spikes on the mace found it's way into the muscles. Luckily, the bone didn't receive too much damage.

"Witseva, calm down." Hadvar pleaded.

"Potions."

"What?"

"Check for potions."

Hadvar realised that the room they were in was a storeroom. He checked the barrel that Witseva was feebly pointing to. Inside were a few potions, ranging from stamina regen to health. He took a health potion out and gave it to Witseva.

"Now, don't drink it until after I check."

"Why?"

"Shut up and wait."

"Alright. The arm's good. Drink the potion." Hadvar said after two minutes of checking.

Witseva did, fighting against the bile growing in her throat. She felt the muscles in her arm knitting themselves back together. After the knitting finished, Witseva stood up and tested whether her arm was ok. It was, so she walked over to her dagger in the wall and yanked it out.

Hadvar was standing over near the door that lead out. He checked beforehand and, luckily, it was clear of rubble. Witseva took the rest of the potions from the barrel and walked over to him.

"Let's go." She said, not even looking at him.

'Ok. Something's not right about her.' Hadvar thought. Usually regular people aren't this brutal in combat or very straight to business. 'Hopefully I will know her soon. She's starting to freak me out.'

Hadvar opened the door and allowed Witseva through. Despite the gentlemanly act, Witseva didn't thank him. They heard sounds of metal on wood and purple lights coming from the bottom of the stairs. Without thinking, the two rushed down the stairs. Hadvar almost tripped over, not used to the speed at which they were going down.

They reached the bottom and saw two Imperials fighting against two Stormcloaks. With even less rational thought, the two rushed into the fray. Witseva drew her daggers and ran towards the closest Stormcloak and Hadvar went for the furthest one.

The lone Argonian leaped high and came bearing down on the beefed-up Nord. Thankfully, he wasn't wearing a helmet, so the dagger stab to the head Witseva made was proven fatal. In response to the brutality, the hood-wearing old man sent a lighting bolt in Witseva's direction. She managed to dodge just in time, seeing how she just saved his life.

The hooded man was stopped by the flat of a blade on his hand. A sharp glare was sent towards the holder. A whispered conversation went between them. Eventually, the mage sent the magic away, not needing it anymore.

"It's about time you came along. These two were getting restless by the way we've been treating their comrades." The man said, his voice as old as his face.

Hadvar and Witseva were nearing the end of the caves beneath the keep. They came to a relatively large room filled with webs. Suddenly, a bunch of spiders fell from the roof. Witseva froze, since she was deathly afraid of any kind of spider her whole life.

With the Argonian frozen in place, that left Hadvar to clean up the mess. He recognised the spiders as Skyrim's Frostbite spiders. He mentally told himself to stay away from their fangs, as their poison is as cold as the land itself.

Several mini Frostbites came towards his feet. Hadvar kicked them away, as they were a nuisance. Several steps were taken, squishing any more mini Frostbites, and a fight between the many spiders and the lone Imperial took place. Fangs were blocked by the shield of iron and wood and the steel of the sword were repelled by the natural armour of the spiders.

Sometime during the fight, Witseva got out of her trance. Seeing Hadvar in immediate danger, Witseva drew her iron sword and dagger and rushed in without regard for her life. An upward slash in a vulnerable spot took a spider's leg off and a downward stab to the brain took the life from it's body.

Ten minutes passed when all of the spiders were dead and the mini ones scattered away into any crevice that they could fit into.

"Heh. What's next, giant snakes?" Hadvar joked, much to Witseva's misery. She hated snakes as much as spiders.

They ran through the open tunnel, sliding a bit as it was downhill. They went over a natural bridge and spotted a sleeping bear. Hadvar spotted it first and went into a crouch immediately. Witseva followed his lead, although she didn't know why.

"Hold up. There's a bear just ahead. See her?" Hadvar informed, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yeah." Witseva whispered back, finally seeing the problem.

"I'd rather not tangle with 'er right now. So let's try to sneak past her, and watch where you step."

"Mmhm."

"Or, if you're feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise." Hadvar said, handing Witseva a longbow and extra arrows.

"Go ahead, I'll follow your lead and watch your back."

Without a second's thought, Witseva nocked an arrow into the drawstring and pulled it back. She didn't know an animal's anatomy very well, so she just aimed for the head. She let the arrow fly, but the arrow hit the bear's shoulder instead, waking it up and making it charge at them. Witseva, in a self-cursing phase, nocked another arrow and let that one fly. Only down to pure luck, it hit the bear's head and through the skull, killing it.

"Not one for sneaking, hmm?" Hadvar said, getting up from the crouch and running normally.

Witseva snorted, and chased after him. They rounded a corner, seeing a bloody mess and bones in the next room but continued. Another corner, and they came to the entrance.

"Look's like the way out. I wasn't sure that we were going to make it." Hadvar said, running through the mouth with Witseva close behind.

Now was the best time for Witseva to thank the Hist for what happened.


	3. Chapter 3: Going down to Riverwood

**Draco Oblivion: So sorry. Must not of been paying attention. No worries. It's fixed now! Far out, I would never of noticed. Thanks anyways.**

**And let's make damn sure that I don't do it again. Once more, so sorry.**

The sun hurt the eyes of the two who just came out of the cave. They are somewhere north of Helgen and just off the road.

A familiar roar was heard in the distance.

"Witseva, take cover." Hadvar ordered, crouching behind a small rock formation.

Witseva followed his lead, taking up the space beside him. Suddenly, the black dragon flew over their position, the ground shaking and the air whistling as it passed. It looked to the rocks that they were hiding behind, it's red eyes trying to melt the rock themselves. Without anymore interest, it flew away, over the mountain in the distance.

A minute passed before Hadvar stood up.

"I think it's gone for good this time." Hadvar stated, confidence covering his fear.

He started to walk down the dirt road, leaving Witseva alone for a few seconds. She decided to follow, against her wishes to walking the other direction alone. Hadvar said something about a town called Riverwood and his uncle but she wasn't paying attention.

"You know, you should go to Solitude an join the Imperial Legion." Hadvar said, out of the blue and stopping to turn to Witseva.

"No. You almost killed me!" Witseva replied, stopping as well.

Hadvar audibly sighed. "I know today wasn't the best introduction to the Legion, but we could really use someone like you. If it makes you feel any better, I'll vouch for you if you do decide to join us."

"You wouldn't accept someone like me." Witseva mumbled, although Hadvar heard it.

"And why not, Witseva? The Legion needs anyone they can muster."

"I'm an Argonian! And what makes it worse, I was once a Shadowscale! I do not need to fight for anything or anyone and I am certainly NOT going back to Black Marsh!"

Hadvar became silent over the outburst. He knew the dangers of pissing off assassins, and Shadowscales were more than that. They were trained and bred to kill without any remorse.

'No wonder she didn't care about killing those Stormcloaks or the blood splatters.' Hadvar thought.

They resumed their trek down the hill. Witseva noticed some kind of structure on the mountain in the distance.

"Hadvar, what's that up there?" Witseva asked, pointing towards the ruin.

"That is Bleak Falls Barrow, an ancient Nordic burial crypt. I used to have nightmares about that place when I was young."

"What kind of nightmares?"

"Draugr climbing through my window in the middle of the night to kill me. That sort of thing."

Witseva wanted to ask what a Draugr is, but Hadvar resumed walking down the hill. Witseva caught up to him in no time. They passed three stones, each with a constellation on them.

"These are the Guardian Stones. They are three of the thirteen standing stones all across Skyrim's landscape."

Witseva walked to the middle of them and looked at them. In front of her was the Mage, the constellation that gives those born under it greater magical learning abilities. She felt a familial connection with it, but she didn't have any other siblings that could've been born. Behind her on the right was the Warrior, giving those with more knowledge on how to improve their fighting capabilities. Witseva's sister was born under this sign. On her other side was the Thief, giving those more shady atmospheres and extra ways to improve their stealth.

"Which one are you born under, Hadvar?"

"I was born under the Tower."

"I thought you would've been born under the Warrior or The Lord."

"No. The Tower, I was told. Been that way ever since and that's the answer I tell everyone."

"Ok. Let's go then."

The two walked away from the three stones and continued down the road. The path became more even, making it easier to traverse. A fair way into the continued trek, the two heard a rustling and a howl.

"Wolves!" Hadvar yelled, whipping his sword out.

Witseva kept her weapons in their scabbards. Her keener hearing rooted out their canine attackers and she sent a jet of flame from her hand. The wolf's yelps were heard, as it's fur and skin were burning brightly. It soon died, having been charred enough. Another wolf leapt at Witseva, latching onto her left wrist. More flames were sent into the wolf, but some damage has been done to her. She didn't want to waste any potions just yet, so she casted a healing spell. The scales were regained, but left a few bite scars on the wrist.

Hadvar just finished the wolf that thought it was a good idea to get to the Nord through his shield. He saw the burnt remains of two of the three wolves and saw Witseva casting magic. He visibly shuddered. Most Nords hated magic with a passion, and that's why they hated all manner of Elves because magic came naturally to them.

After Witseva skinned the pelt off of the wolf that wasn't burnt to a crisp, they continued. What Witseva didn't know was that Riverwood was just around the bend.

"Looks like this place didn't receive the news about Helgen." Hadvar said, slowing down to a walk.

'Let's hope so.' Witseva thought.

Beekah was walking through the halls of Jorrvaskr. It's been a few months since she became a part of the Companions, but a few weeks since she received any word from her sister, Witseva. She didn't like her sister's occupation and skill set, but she didn't despise her. Her brother, Haj-Jah, was the recent apprentice to Wuunferth the Unliving in Windhelm, which was up north and must be against any Argonian's better wisdom. There wasn't any mage colleges in Black Marsh and they didn't trust the ones in Cyrodiil, so Skyrim was the next best thing.

Beekah took a look at the letter she received from a courier those weeks ago.

"Dear Beekah,

I have left the Shadowscales, but not without the consequences. I am currently on the run from them. I've encountered them six times now, each time more appearing to kill me. I need to escape to somewhere less dangerous than Black Marsh, but also somewhere that even they don't dare to enter. I know that we are slightly estranged, but I have no other choice but to come to Skyrim. To find you. All I need is a few more weeks of travel, but I may not make it.

If I don't, do not mourn me. I don't deserve it after what I've done.

From Witseva Cadorees."

Beekah knew of the slight estrangement, but that was about seven years ago, when she saw Witseva assassinate someone in front of her. That was when Beekah was still living in Black Marsh, as a part of the King of Black Marsh's army.

Beekah walked outside, still feeling the crisp Skyrim air hit her. She took out her battle axe, and swung it at a few of the practice dummies. She kept this up for two hours, that's when she couldn't swing anymore. She put her weapon back into it's sheath. When she turned around, she saw Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the Companions.

"Hello Kodlak."

"Is something troubling you, Beekah?"

Beekah sighed, looking away from Kodlak.

'The old codger sure knows something. I hope he hasn't been looking through my belongings.'

"I'm just worried about my sister."

"What about her?"

"She is being hunted by... some people and she sent me this letter. She hasn't arrived yet."

"How long?"

"A few weeks."

"Wait one more. And only then I will allow you to find her. But down to why I came exactly, Aela and Farkas have been looking for you."

"Why?"

"They didn't tell. They wanted to see you personally."

After that, Kodlak went back inside Jorrvaskr, leaving Beekah alone to ponder. The Argonian walked back into Jorrvaskr, seeing Aela and Farkas standing off to one side.

Apart from being the only Argonian in the Companions, Beekah shares some similarities with Witseva. A darkly coloured skin, although Beekah's is a more lighter colour. She also has a triad of horns at the back of her head. She is more muscular, seen in the way she swings her battle axe around without trouble and wears the iron armour like a paperweight.

"You wanted to see me, Aela?" Beekah asked.

"Yes. Do you know anything about magic?"

"Why?"

"We need you to clear out a den of Necromancers. You need to set out in the morning."

"Ok. Give me the location."

Aela did so and, with something to occupy her mind, Beekah knew that she would complete the contract.

Dreamscape:

Witseva was standing in the middle of somewhere. It was desolate, save for a few fires with no fuel to burn and a sandstorm covered most of her view. A black shape materialised in front of her, more human than beast. It was Hadvar, but something was wrong.

When he fully materialised, a jet of flame enveloped him. His screams of pain were heard everywhere, not just in that spot. She saw Ralof appear, but he was snapped up in powerful jaws and thrown far away. His screams of pain and suffering echoed throughout the empty space, everywhere yet nowhere at once.

Larger shapes encircled Witseva. A bunch of dragons that resembled the one at Helgen took shape. Pairs of red eyes watched Witseva's every move. Witseva drew a sword that was on her hip the whole time. As soon as she moved to the hilt, the dragons let the flames forth.

The last thing Witseva saw was the orange of fire and the last things she felt was her scales burning and her screams of unbridled agony.

Witseva opened her eyes rapidly and sat up with enough force to possibly give her whiplash. No one else was in the small hut of Alvor's, Hadvar's uncle. She wanted her old belongings back, but they were either destroyed along with Helgen or buried under it. That's including her most treasured sword, a katana infused with health absorption that Witseva enchanted herself, similar to the Mephala's Ebony Blade of legend but instead of it being two-handed, it was one-handed.

Witseva got out of bed and dressed in one of Sigrid's clothes, which she was allowed to wear, seeing as it is seen as indecency to go out without anything on.

The clothes she wore was a white and brown dress. It covered most of her, which was fine with Witseva. She left the house after having some breakfast. With some conscious thought, she went towards the trader.

She walked in, having spotted it's location yesterday. As soon as Witseva opened the door, the heat from the fireplace hit her scales, warming them, and the voices of the apparent occupants.

"We can't just sit around. We must do something." The female said.

"I said no. No adventures, no theactrics, NO THIEF CHASING!." The male behind the counter said.

"What are you going to do about it, huh? Let's hear it."

"We are DONE talking about this."

The male, obviously an Imperial, turned towards Witseva.

"Oh... uh. Sorry you had to hear that." The man apologised.

"Is something the matter?" Witseva asked, not fazed by the man's apology.

"Well, uh, yeah, we had a bit of a break-in." The man answered.

"You refilled your stock quite well." Witseva said, looking around the shop.

"Heh. Funnily enough, the thieves were here for one thing. A claw, made of solid gold. Normally, it would be only on display here." The man said, motioning to the empty space.

"I'll help you get it back, Mr..." Witseva replied, elongating 'Mr' due to not knowing the Imperial man's name.

"Just call me either Lucan or Lucan Valerius. I have some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you get my claw back."

It was then that the girl stood up, a look of defiance on her face that was heavy with make-up. Usually, Witseva would be wanting to attract friends in other women, but she was repulsed by this Imperial.

"I'm going to show this person to Bleak Falls Barrow." She said.

"Fine. To the bridge but that's it." Lucan said, quickly countering.

The two women walked out of the store. Witseva was still in her borrowed clothes. The Argonian realised that the Imperial woman stopped and was speaking.

"To get to Bleak Falls Barrow, you need to go to on the trail on the left. Then you would only need to follow the trail around the mountain until you reach the ruin."

"Ok. Thank you. Now, allow me to get into my armour." Witseva thanked before heading back into Alvor's house.

There, she put her Imperial armour in place of the clothes she wore. Witseva put her quiver of iron arrows on her back, accompanied by her longbow. The daggers were now in place on Witseva's upper body, one on her left arm and the other on her chest, both on separate straps. Her iron sword was placed on her hip. Now set for an adventure, Witseva left Riverwood for Bleak Falls Barrow.

She looked into her palm, a few septims in it.

'Too easy. That Imperial woman didn't suspect a thing.' Witseva thought, smiling to herself.


	4. Chapter 4: Bandits, Thieves and the Dead

Witseva started trekking up the mountain towards Bleak Falls Barrow. A small pack of wolves attacked the ex-assassin not too long ago. Instead of leaving them to rot, she skinned them, much to her disgust. She made a temporary fur coat, as the Imperial armour wasn't the best at keeping the warmth in. The trek up the mountain was beginning to take it's toll on Witseva, as the her body temperature was starting to drop.

'Need to find some kind of shelter. And fast.' Witseva thought, wrapping her fragile arms around her body. Her scales were becoming a dark grey, which sent a bad signal to Witseva.

She spotted a dilapidated structure in the distance. In case of she may be spotted, Witseva channeled her Shadowscale training and went into a crouch. She snuck closer to the structure, being very careful as to not hurt herself and to remain silent.

When she got close enough, she saw a Nord in full fur armour, with a worn war axe, leaning against a tree outside the ruin. Knowing a human's anatomy well, Witseva pulled the longbow off of her back, nocked an arrow, pulled the string back and let loose the arrow. It was launched beautifully. It was coming straight to the Nord... until a gust of wind blew the arrow off course. The arrow hit the rock behind the tree that the Nord was leaning against.

The dull thunk of the arrow hitting the rock, drawing the Nord's attention to the source. He drew his axe from his hip and walked towards the sound. An arrow was sitting in the snow, it's head slightly dulled from the impact. He was just about to turn around when a second arrow pierced his head, killing him instantly. A Bosmer walked out of the structure, with a hunting bow and fur armour that only covers his lower body, seeing his bandit friend dead.

He traced the angle of which the death shot came from, and saw an Argonian in Imperial armour aiming at him with a longbow. He ducked, missing his death by less than a millimetre. He dashed to a pile of rock, hearing another arrow whiz past his face. He safely made it to the rock, nocked one of his iron arrows and fired it, risking his life for that shot.

Witseva was cursing herself for getting into a fight, especially one at range. Quick, clean kills was her style, not long battles like what Beekah was used to. She saw the Bosmer fire and the arrow fly at her. On it's way to her, she stepped out of the line of fire and grabbed the arrow out of the air. She nocked it and fired it at the Bosmer, who was lining up another shot. It hit the Bosmer in the neck, but the arrow in his hunting bow was fired at Witseva, who was hit in the right shoulder.

Witseva hissed. She tried to pull the arrow out but she couldn't. She turned her head to the back of her shoulder and saw the tip sticking out. In either a moment of idiocy or ingenuity, she pushed the arrow shaft through the rest of the way. It came out, but left a small hole through the scales and muscle. It wasn't anything that the healing spell she knew couldn't fix.

Witseva put the longbow away, feeling that she didn't need it anymore. She trudged over to the Wood Elf, who was lying in a pool of his own blood, and took his rather small quiver of arrows from him. She also took whatever gold he had on him, probably stolen in the first place. She couldn't take the arrow that did the kill shot from him, so Witseva just left it be. The one in the Nord was left and the ones that hit the rocks were left behind, seeing as the dull heads wouldn't do as much damage.

She walked over the stone bridge and into the structure. Either no one else was in here, or they were preparing for an ambush. Just in case, Witseva pulled out her daggers but her hold on them was weak, as the cold was getting to her. She went up the stairs and out the doorway into the open Skyrim air. Witseva stopped to see the view, but became nervous as she looked straight down, seeing the rocks below. Steeling herself back up, Witseva walked up the ramp and into the second door.

"HEY! GET OUT!"

Witseva looked towards the source of the voice. An Orc, armoured in full iron armour, a banded iron shield and a well kept iron mace were in his hands. A snarl was across his lips, but all Orcs that Witseva saw during her Shadowscale days had some kind of snarl on their face. She just stayed where she was. In fact, she just kept walking towards a desk on her level.

"This is your last warning! Leave now, you lizard bitch!"

That insult made something snap within Witseva. She looked back, a mask of calm overshadowing her fury. She's had enough, enough of the insults to her race and to herself. She put a dagger away and drew her sword and charged the battle-ready Orc.

Worst idea ever.

The stairs gave the Orc the initial advantage. When Witseva started to charge, the Orc moved over and slashed downward. Witseva tried to parry with her sword, but it broke at the hilt from the impact. She threw the useless weapon away and put her dagger into her right hand. She tried to slash at him, but the Orc kept pushing her away with the shield.

Witseva was slowly pushed down the stairs. The Argonian was getting tired very quickly now, and the Orc wasn't even breaking a sweat. She was stopped by the wall and the Orc was about to give the killing blow when Witseva saw the opportunity. She leaped at it, the dagger catching the sun's rays and blinding her enemy.

The throat of the Orc was given a hole. The Orc himself was too preoccupied with the blinding sun that his death was quick.

In a rage, Witseva leapt on top of the dying bandit and kept stabbing him with the dagger. It was after about an odd twenty stabs that the Shadowscale finally realised what happened. The Orc's neck and face were riddled with holes and the chest was no better. Witseva broke down into tears at the sight, knowing full well who did it. She didn't bother to wipe the tears away, she just let them flow, the blood from the Orc slowly seeping through the wood. Witseva just sat there against the wall, not caring about the cold anymore.

"Why? Why? Why?" Witseva managed to say between bouts of despair.

She looked at the dagger that she used. She threw it away from her, but it ended up on the corpse in front of her. Witseva, in a split second, yanked the dagger out of it, not wanting to get the Orc's soul to kill her in her sleep. Without time for a proper burial, she looted the corpse of anything of value, including the mace, and apologised for what she did before pushing him down the mountainside into the river below.

She looked at the ring she looted. It was glowing a red/orange tinge.

'A fire enchantment of some kind. What does it do, I wonder.' Witseva thought.

She put it on and instantly some warmth came flooding into her system. Some of her scales went back to the brown she was used to.

"Ok. Some heating enchantment is on this ring." Witseva thought out loud.

She went up to the top of the tower and saw a chest. She opened it, the chest was seemingly calling to her. Inside she found a few amulets. One was of an upside down axe, another of a war horn or something and the last had three distinct circles, all had a pearl in the centre.

'I have no idea what these are supposed to mean. Maybe I can find someone who does know what they are.' Witseva thought, pocketing the amulets.

She climbed down from the top, much to her disappointment. She realised that the armour that the Nord was wearing might be of better quality than the Imperial armour she was currently wearing. So she went down and swapped the armour around.

The armour felt warmer, but not in the odd kind of way.

"By the Hist, it's freezing."

Haj-Jah was standing outside Windhelm. He was coming back from a delivery that Wuunferth ordered him to do. It included going into the river, that was kind of half frozen over, to 'fetch' some of the unique specimens that make their homes in there. His magicka pools have run dry, due to constantly using them to stop the hypothermia creeping in.

The snow was bright on the Argonian's eyes. His mage hood had two holes cut at the back to allow his horns to pass through, which were straight and had one ring down the centre each. Due to the prejudice in Windhelm, Haj-Jah was constantly threatened and slurred at but it wasn't anything new. A few weeks worth of something like this can seem normal. He drank a magicka potion, the only one he had left.

The only thing that hasn't happened to him is...

A Khajiit bumped into the Argonian and knocked him over, stepping on Haj-Jah's tail in the process. The downed Argonian was about to yell at the Khajiit to watch it, when he realised that his gathered supplies aren't on him. He chased the cat across the bridge, infuriated. The Khajiit was fast, but Haj-Jah was by no means slower. In no time, the Argonian tackled the Khajiit, forcing both onto the ground.

"Give back my stuff, you stupid cat." Haj-Jah managed to say without being hit.

"No." The Khajiit replied, clutching onto the satchel tighter.

"Sorry for this." Haj-Jah apologised in advance before sending out a small streak of lightning at the Khajiit.

It wasn't enough to cause damage, but it did make the cat let go. Haj-Jah snatched his belongings back and raced into the city.

Haj-Jah didn't stop running until he reached the Palace of the Kings. He knew the legends of this place. Said to be built by the ancient Nordic hero... Ysgram-something or other. He didn't pay much attention to names. The eyes of the guards were on him. He knew what they were thinking, even without the spells to aid him.

He was let inside anyways, due to the influence of Wuunferth. No one wanted to mess with Ulfric's court mage.

Without meeting Galmar's eyes, Haj-Jah walked into the door that lead to Wuunferth's quarters. The cold stone corridors were dimly lit, but that just made Haj-Jah's dark green scales blend into the darkness that was ever present.

The Argonian apprentice made it to Wuunferth's door. He knocked, not wanting to intrude or to be disrespectful.

The door was yanked open, revealing the face of Wuunferth the Unliving, in all of it's aged glory. And he did not look happy.

"What do you want?!" Wuunferth questioned, startling Haj-Jah.

Haj-Jah looked away and pushed the ingredients towards Wuunferth.

"Sorry, Master Wuunferth. Here is the ingredients you wanted me to fetch." Haj-Jah said, looking away even more.

"Thank you, Haj. Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else." Wuunferth apologised.

Ever since he took the rather young and inexperienced Argonian to be his apprentice, some guards and even Galmar Stone-Fist have been pestering Wuunferth to get rid of him. Haj-Jah has been the victim of some nasty things, like being beaten and left to be frozen, choked and once Galmar punched him in the face with his Stormcloak gauntlets on while Haj-Jah was sleeping. The puncture wounds on the outside were covering the broken bone on the inside. That left Wuunferth very unhappy and a full day's work of healing the Argonian. Haj-Jah has the scars from that punch, three pink holes about a centimetre under the eye.

"Come in, Haj. Come in." Wuunferth said, putting his ragged hand on the Argonian's back and pushing him inside.

The Argonian's eyes were still downcast. He was still scared about that attack from Galmar, even though both Wuunferth and Jarl Ulfric both reprimanded him. Haj-Jah was in Windhelm due to the kindness of both of them. Jarl Ulfric came to Haj-Jah to personally apologise for Galmar's actions. That was six weeks ago, just before Jarl Ulfric left for Riften.

It still didn't make the Argonian feel better though.

"See if you can decipher this." Wuunferth ordered, throwing some kind of book onto Haj-Jah's lap.

He visibly jumped, but got to work quickly. The text was almost indecipherable, but an hour into the deciphering Haj started to figure out the pattern. It was written in some kind of old text, that was sure, and each symbol there was translated into some word in Cyrodillic.

Three hours after he figured out the pattern, Haj-Jah was finished. He put the quill down carefully and covered the inkwell.

"Good. You're finished. Now, which language was that?" Wuunferth said, crossing his arms and stating the obvious.

"I don't know... Akaviri?" Haj-Jah answered, not fully sure which language it was.

"Well done. But there's no need to question yourself. Think of the possible answers first, then select which one you feel is correct. Now, I shall give you something I received from Farengar."

A spell tome was laid down carefully onto Haj-Jah's lap. It bore the tree, the sign of Alteration magic. Another was laid down on top, this one bearing the weaving rings, the sign for Illusion magic.

"The Illusion spell is Muffle, used to silence your steps. Useful, if you plan on using armour. The Alteration spell is Magelight, which casts a light into a certain part of an area." Wuunferth explained.

Haj-Jah stood up, "Thank you, Master Wuunferth." He thanked, bowing his head in respect.

The Argonian left the master wizard's room, and left for his own, which was in the same section as Wuunferth's. He produced a key, which allowed him to enter that room. It was mostly bare, save for a bed, a closet and a table and chair. This room was mostly neglected before the Argonian took up residence there, evidenced by a few stray cobwebs. It was kindly supplied by Ulfric when he arrived.

He spent the odd hour and a half reading the two spell tomes over and over again until he memorised the words needed to cast them. Haj-Jah looked out his small window. Sunset was happening, painting Nirn's sky in orange and purple hues.

The next few hours were spent watching the sun set and the two moons come out in all their glory. He did sleep, except he slept on the windowsill.

Beekah was stumbling through the ruins, fatigue seeping into her muscles. She just came out of a nasty fight. Her iron armour was slightly burnt from fire, crystals were forming from the ice magic and scratches from the Necromancers' zombies.

"I hate magic."

Her battle axe was painted in the blood of the Men and Mer that call this place home. Some of the ashes of the zombies they raised were dusted along her boots. The battle Argonian was starting to lose her energy. She had to find the leader of this group, and fast.

No rest.

Don't need a break.

Fight until the end.

Beekah ran these mantras through her mind countless times. She seemed to reenergise, losing most of her fatigue. She pressed on through the next door, revealing a new kind of trouble.

A room full of zombies and ashes.

The zombies reacted to the door, and all of them saw the Argonian. The undead rushed towards her, and so Beekah did the exact same. The zombies swung whatever weapons they had, which include war axes, swords, pickaxes and war hammers.

Beekah parried, dodged and swung with exceptional speed. The battle axe she wielded was a blur, smashing through bone, wood and metal alike. One hour after the beginning, all of the zombies were piles of ashes.

"NO!"

Beekah saw a High Elf, looking in horror at the scene before his eyes.

"MY MINIONS!" He yelled, his hands still clutching onto his scalp.

He saw the female Argonian, blood covering her face and axe.

"YOU SHALL PAY!"

He summoned a flame atronach from the planes of Oblivion to assist him and he dashed to a safer place. Beekah and the atronach dashed towards one another. Before they were about clash, the atronach cut the line and sent a fireball to the Argonian. Beekah managed to block the fireball before it hit her armour and sent a swing towards the female-looking atronach.

It managed to roll itself over the blade of the axe and put a rune in front of Beekah. When the Argonian stepped forward, the rune exploded in a burst of fire, burning any unprotected scales on Beekah's body. Fuelling her anger, she pulled onto a more offensive state of mind rather than a defensive one. The Argonian kept swinging her axe, the atronach kept dodging but Beekah kept swinging.

When she feinted a sideways swing, the atronach dodged low and Beekah diverted her swing downward. Without sensing the change in swing, the atronach was hit in the back and stumbled. More strikes were issued until electricity surged out of the body and it disappeared, but not without a bang. When it fully disintegrated, a big explosion of fire erupted from it's death spot.

Beekah shielded her face from the blast but it still burnt her lower legs. Still angered, she ran through the ashes, kicking up a dust cloud and up the stairs that the Necromancer left through. A door was at the end and she unceremoniously shoulder charged her way through the wood. The High Elf casted an armour spell on himself and drew a steel dagger on the Argonian warrior.

Beekah realised that the room had three corpses in it, each in robes similar to the leader. He saw the Necromancer try to raise them, and succeeded.

'Great. Now I have three more spell casters to worry about.' Beekah thought, groaning inwardly.

Four streams of fire were sent her way. She rolled as quick as her armour would allow. The remains of the door burnt, leaving small piles of ash there.

One zombie was too close to the location at where Beekah rolled to. A swing from the axe came, but it didn't meet the body of the zombie, as it hopped back just in time.

Now, Beekah was hit by something. It wasn't magic, she knew that much. More martial than that. Pain overrode her system. It was then she realised that she'd been stabbed, by a puny dagger no doubt. But she couldn't move.

The head Necromancer walked in front of her frozen body. Beekah really wanted to beat that smug grin he had on his face now.

"Nice work." He said, before his zombies disintegrated.

He saw the Companion try to move, the strain clearly on her scaled face.

"Don't try to move, Argonian. You wouldn't want to when I'm done with you."

He then casted a spell onto her, and her vision cleared of the anger.

Beekah forgot her assignment from the Companions. Her battle axe was taken from her grasp and thrown into some storeroom. She was standing there, in a pose of pain, for a few more seconds. When the poison did wear off, she slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. But, her fury clouded her vision, resulting in her sights honing in on the Altmer in front of her. Without any thought, she stood up and charged, left fist raised threateningly and a battle cry from her reptilian lips.

The Altmer turned around too late. When he turned his head around to his right, Beekah sent a deadly hook towards the right. The impact from the iron gauntlet, coupled with the head turn, made the Altmer's skull cave in. Blood spattered onto the Argonian's gauntlet and onto the stone floor. Beekah stood there, fist dropped and still clenched, breathing heavily to rid herself of the tunnel vision.

When she finally managed to calm down, Beekah searched his corpse for the key to the storehouse that held HER battle axe. She found it and unlocked the storehouse door. There, a skeever leapt out at her, trying to get a taste of scales. Beekah kicked the vermin, sending it careening across the room.

"Annoying little shits." Beekah muttered, walking through the door and shaking her head.

She found her battle axe, which was easy. No mistaking the steel that it was made from. She picked it up, sheathed it across her back and walked out. To make sure that the necromancer would be dead, she unsheathed the battle axe, raised it and swung it downwards towards the neck of the necromancer, executioner styled. The sharp edge of the axe cleanly cut through the bone and muscle, successfully leaving a head separate from the body.

Now that she completed the contract that she set out to accomplish, she sheathed her battle axe and made her way out of the ruin. The mid-morning sun heated up Beekah's scales, only oppressed by the cold winds of the province.

'I have time to spare. I should go to Riverwood. I could do with a small time off.' Beekah thought.

And so, she made her trek to Riverwood. The roads were devoid of travellers, probably due to the Civil War raging on. Only the Thalmor dared to walk through Skyrim like they owned the province.

'Stuck up bastards. They have no right to dictate religion.' Beekah thought once again. It wasn't the first time she had that thought.

When she arrived in Riverwood, it was dusk, the sun painting the various shades of orange, red and purple across the western horizon. She walked into the tavern, basking in the smell of mead, food and smoke. A fire raged in the centre of the room, creating warmth against the harshness of Skyrim. But one sight, well three, caught the eye of Beekah. Three High Elves, one in a black robe with golden threadings, and two in the distinctive Elven armour. They seemed to be arguing with the bartender, who was a Nord built like a brick house.

'Looks like the Thalmor don't know the dangers of pissing off a Nord.' Beekah thought. She remembers back to when she first joined the Companions. She pissed off Farkas due to his lack of clear intelligence. That pissed him off so much that him and Beekah fought in the yard with practice swords. Farkas swung with so much force that her sword broke.

"My brother may have the smarts of Ysgramor, but I have his strength." Farkas soon said to her.

She laughed to herself at the memory. By the look of the Nord, he was about to lose it himself. Beekah, not wanting to make this a slaughterhouse, stepped into the argument.

"-will say this again, are there any Blades or worshippers of Talos?" The Thalmor wizard asked, getting really annoyed.

"Neither. Go and bother someone else." The Nord answered, his hands threatening to split the wood of the counter.

"By Auri-El, tell me the-" The wizard said.

"Look, Orgnar is telling you the truth. There is NOT any worshippers of Talos and the Blades have long since died out. So leave or, by the Hist, I will make you leave." Beekah interrupted.

But the wizard seemed to notice a string of an amulet around Beekah's neck. He reached forwards, grasped it and pulled it out for everyone to see. It bore a tree, encased in amber. He seemed to be contemplating whether to ask her for what it meant or to figure it out for himself.

"It represents the Hist Tree, the physical embodiment of the Hist." Beekah explained.

The High Elf seemed to get angry, dropping the amulet and storming out, his entourage following him out. Beekah never let her gaze leave the Thalmor until they were out the door. Only then did she relax.

"It's a good thing that you came along when you did, Beekah. I was about to pound them to Oblivion." Orgnar said, laughing slightly.

Beekah laughed as well, seeing Orgnar lose it and giving the Thalmor a new nose. "You would've made them prettier with the broken nose, Orgnar."

Orgnar buckled over in laughter, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with every laugh. He managed to calm down enough to ask Beekah something.

"How's the Companions going for you, Beekah? Not much different than the army?" Orgnar asked, pulling out a bottle of Nord Mead and giving it to Beekah.

"Way more different than the army. The An-Xileel are ruthless in discipline and want to conquer everything. That's part of the reason why I left. But the Companions are good, challenging but good." Beekah responded, handing out a few gold coins and taking a swig from the bottle.

"Look, is it true that the amulet is for the Hist?" Orgnar asked, whispering.

"Aye. I hate corporeal things, so I needed a physical reminder of the Hist." Beekah whispered back.

Orgnar nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth a bit.

"I guess you'll be staying a few nights, then?" He assumed.

"You guessed correct. Three nights." Beekah replied, putting down a few more coins as payment.

Orgnar pointed to the room that Beekah would stay in. It was quaint, but it fulfilled the job. She walked in, closing the door on her way past. She unsheathed the battle axe from her back and placed it upwards against the wooden wall. She unlatched the straps for the iron armour and placed each piece inside a bag meant to keep the iron dry and away from rust. She donned a miner's set of clothing, since it was thick to keep the cold out, yet comfortable enough to wear.

A wave of fatigue hit her. The strenuous activity of cleaning out a ruined fort full of necromancers and their thrills were tiring, not to mention the extra walk to Riverwood. The Argonian warrior sat down on the edge of the bed and, struggling, pulled her legs up onto the bed. She kept staring up into the roof beams for two hours, contemplating on things. Like, if Witseva has survived and made it to Skyrim, or she had died from the other Shadowscales. Or how Haj-Jah is going in his studies up in Windhelm, where Oblivion itself might freeze six times over.

Finally, her mind has begun to slow down, allowing her eyelids to close. While the muscles in her legs began to tense up, her brain didn't pay attention to it. Soon, her consciousness drifted away, being replaced by the subconscious dreams that were, and probably never are, clear in their explanations.


	5. Adventures in Bleak Falls Barrow Part 1

**Hello once again. Sorry about the long wait, been working on another story. One that is completely unrelated to Skyrim, but is close to my top games list. Check it out, please.**

**For now, enjoy the chapter.**

After waiting in the tower until night, Witseva could almost feel her power growing. No, she isn't a vampire, she always used to do her assassinations in the night as it was easier to deceive. What she didn't count on was the large drop in temperature. Hurriedly, Witseva got down from the most coldest part of the tower and into the warmest part, which wasn't much better. She had a torch ready, as the darkness couldn't be seen through normally, unless you were a Khajiit.

Without much else to go on except a landmark that she couldn't see, Witseva did the only thing that any sane person would do. Follow the path upwards yet again. Fresh fallen snow was crushed underneath her feet, making sounds that made Witseva wince.

Three lights soon came into the Shadowscale's vision. Torchlight, no doubt about that. Witseva put her torch out and away and casted a Night Eye spell to be more careful. She snuck around, hoping to get into Bleak Falls Barrow in another way. She came to a point where the stone of the crypt met with a shallow incline of the mountain.

Witseva knew that she couldn't just kill the few outside outright. But she couldn't sneak past them without her being spotted. She had an idea, one that could shorten her life or could shorten the time. She used her claws to climb up the decaying rock of the crypt's many arches. From the vantage point, she saw only three separate bandits, not the three groups that she previously thought.

"Easy pickings." Witseva whispered, an evil smile appearing across her scaled face. Now she can kill them without worries.

When one bandit, a Nord female, was walking under her, Witseva dropped. She landed on the bandit's collarbone, making a sickening snap and a large cry of agony. They both fell to the ground but Witseva got up fast. Witseva quickly cut the Nord female's throat to stop the screams. It was too late, but the darkness is the assassin's friend.

By the time the bandit's two fellows, a Khajiit male and a female Dark Elf, reached their friend's corpse, Witseva was gone. The two remaining unsheathed their weapons and spread out, hoping to find the killer. The Khajiit was the first victim, receiving a well placed arrow to the head. He made a small sound, but it was a large one when in the dead of night.

"Dro-Enji? Was that you?" The Dark Elf whispered upon hearing the sound.

She walked closer, holding the torch up high to illuminate more area.

The Dark Elf gasped upon seeing her bandit buddy dead. His blood was pouring through the head wound and onto the stones. She dropped the torch in fright, making the area around her eyes dimmer. When she bent down to pick it back up again, a force went straight into the back of her knee. She doubled over, feeling the joint inside break from the impact. The Dark Elf screamed in pain, but her cries were soon cut short from another force that was sent straight into the side of her head, crushing the skull and killing her.

Witseva stood there, the mace bloodied with the use. She didn't revel in death as before, the bandits deserved that fate, but she can't help it but temporarily lose her small amount of sanity over their deaths. But she realised that she can kill these kinds of people, as they kill the innocent.

Now that the threats on the outside were taken care of, it was time for Witseva to enter Bleak Falls Barrow and face the inside threats.

Witseva was standing in an opening. She couldn't really do anything simpler or more boring. Her case of arachnophobia has caused her to stay where she was. The next room was covered in webs, even the doorway was the same. She could hear a Dark Elf's voice calling out, as annoying as it is.

She held a paralysis poison in her hand, ready to use it on her iron mace when she gets past the webbed doorway. Witseva pulled out a steel sword she took from a bandit not too long ago and started to slice through the thick webs. Five minutes of slashing and cutting it, the webs fell away and allowed her to enter the room. It was then that Witseva applied the poison onto each side of the mace.

She carefully walked in, mace raised to face any threat. Witseva half expected to see many little spiders. She saw the Dunmer, his body wrapped in webs but his mouth wasn't.

'That's a shame, really.' Witseva thought. Now she has a most likely scared and blubbering Dark Elf to worry about now.

She walked forwards but she put the mace away, thinking that she didn't need it.

She didn't look up.

A giant Frostbite Spider fell down from the webbed hole in the roof. It landed just in front of Witseva, shaking the ground and making the Argonian stumble backwards. It made it's clicking sound, showing it's fangs that were dripping in the excess of venom.

Witseva, when she stumbled back, used the backwards momentum to roll back up onto her feet. When she was standing upright again, Witseva drew her mace.

The spider leapt for her, baring it's many fangs. When it came close enough, Witseva rolled under the spider. In a moment of time where it slowed down, Witseva saw the spider spin a web in her direction and coated her left leg in rapidly solidifying web.

She became stuck and left to the spider's mercy. The spider turned around and walked up to the immobile Argonian. Witseva saw that the spider was limping a little bit, obviously injured during the fight against the Dunmer. It came closer, and closer until it reached about a centimetre from the end of Witseva's snout. It eight unblinking eyes stared into Witseva's blue slits, staring straight into her soul. Twenty seconds after the stare down, the Frostbite pulled back, showed it's poisoned fangs and struck forth.

Reacting accordingly, Witseva struck out with the mace. It hit the spider in one of it's legs, but that was all the poison needed. The spider became stuck in it's own body and rolled to one side. It gave time for Witseva to pull out her sword and carefully cut the webs trapping her leg and foot.

She just freed herself of the webbed prison when the giant spider started to move again. It got back up, and it wasn't close to happy. It spat a glob of venom at Witseva. She dropped to the floor, the glob flying over her and landing against the wall. Witseva stood back up and ran towards the giant Frostbite. She leapt up to hit it hard with the mace she currently held in two hands. The spider reared again, it's fangs bared and more excess poison dripping.

Both hit each other at the same time. The mace sunk into three of the eight eyes while the fangs found their way past the wrappings and leather and past Witseva's scales. The Frostbite spider shrieked in pain, the mace flying out of it's eyes and causing more pain. Witseva was convulsing on the floor, seeing as it may be her last moments yet again. The poison that was in her system faded but her vision was blurry. She stood back up shakily and drew the steel sword.

Witseva stumbled forward towards the still shrieking spider. She ran forward at the end and plunged the sword forward into the spider, all the way to the hilt. It shrieked one more time and collapsed in a heap, Witseva buried somewhere under it.

The Dunmer was looking at the now dead giant that trapped him there. That Argonian was his last chance to get out of here alive. And now that chance faded away like all of the others. He noticed that something else was happening at the corpse of the spider. Something like some animal was moving out of underneath it. His hopes reignited, seeing the Argonian successfully crawl out from under the Frostbite, the steel sword in hand.

"Good. It's dead. Can you cut me out of here?" The Dunmer said, still wiggling around to get free.

"Where's the claw?" The Argonian asked and sheathing her sword, the voice sounding distinctively female.

"Ah, yes. The claw, I know how it works. The claw, the markings, in the Hall of Stories. I know how it all fits together!" He replied.

"Alright, I'll cut you down. But you'll have to give me the claw when I do, ok." She said, drawing out an Iron dagger.

"Sweet breath of Arkay, thank you." The Dunmer thanked.

The Argonian lady expertly cut the restrictive web away from the Dunmer's body. When enough of it had been cut away, the Dark Elf fell to the floor. Standing up, he noticed that some of the webs were still stuck to him. Instead of giving the claw to the Argonian, he turned and ran down the corridors.

"Stupid lizard! Why would I share my treasure with anyone? Especially a bitch like you?!" The Dunmer said while running.

"-Especially a bitch like you?!"

Witseva couldn't believe it. She did a favour to someone, and they don't live up to the promise. She saw red cover some of her vision at the words used. After a small state of shock, Witseva ran after him.

The Elf ran down some stairs, taking them quickly. Witseva did the same for the first flight but leapt over the second, landing on top of the disrespectful Elf. A fistfight happened between them, the Argonian gaining the upper hand. When his neck was exposed, Witseva resorted to her kind's natural weapon and slashed across his throat with her claws. His jugular cut open, the Dunmer's lifeblood flowed onto the floor of the crypt.

Witseva couldn't believe it. She now literally has someone's blood on her hands. All because of racial slur once again. She sat back against a pillar, too tired to even care to live anymore.

She heard a clanking of armour and the familiar scrape of metal against leather. She looked towards the source of the noise and what Witseva saw was unbelievable.

It was a walking corpse in full armour.

The papery skin clung to it's bones, it's mouth had pulled back over years of decomposing to make it look like it had a permanent snarl. It held a longsword in it's right hand, still strong possibly after millennia of disuse. It was here that Witseva realised that this must be the Draugr that Hadvar was talking about on their way down to Riverwood. It's glowing blue eyes never blinked, seemed like wisps were stuck inside what remains of the sockets.

"Av Dilon!" A voice said out of no direct source.

Witseva just sat there, wanting death to take her.

'I've done many wrongs. Kill me to right them all.' She mentally pleaded.

The Draugr flipped the long sword around, gripped it with both of it's hands and lifted it up, ready to plunge into the living thing beneath it. It let the longsword fall, heading towards the living's heart position.

Witseva's subconscious kicked in, forcing her to move out of way of the sword tip. The sword, instead of piercing armour, scales and muscle, it struck the stone floor and sending sparks fly. The assassin retaliated with a dagger stab in the chest. The dagger sunk in, but the Draugr swung around. It cut into Witseva's right arm, splitting the scales and muscle. Witseva hissed at the pain, able to understand that she can not use that arm now. The iron dagger she stabbed this... thing with was still stuck in it's back.

Witseva had no other choice than to take her steel sword out and into her left hand. While it challenged her brain to use the left hand for fighting and not her right, it was rewarding in itself as she knocked the Draugr onto the ground. To make sure that it would not get back up again, Witseva plunged the tip into the Draugr's forehead. The blue glow in it's eyes diminished into nothingness, revealing empty eye sockets which are normal for the dead.

As the adrenaline of the fight wore off, Witseva hissed loudly in pain, all the while clutching the wound made from the ancient longsword. Red blood seeped through her fingers and onto the stones, mixing with the Dunmer's blood. She casted her healing spell. She hissed even more at the pain of the tissue knitting together and the scales reforming. Her mana just ran dry when the wound was fully healed, leaving behind a thick scar on the brown scales.

She looked towards the Dunmer, suddenly remembering that he must have the claw that was Lucien's pride and joy. And the exclamation about treasure beyond this 'Hall of Stories' drew her attention. She looted his corpse, finding the claw, some lockpicks, a few septims and a journal. She learnt that his name was Arvel the Swift.

"That suits him. Took me two flights of stairs to catch him." Witseva muttered to herself.

She turned the Draugr around and yanked the dagger out of it. She then went back up the stairs and into the webbed room. She looked around for the mace, thinking that it would be better to use against the undead in the crypt. She found it behind an egg sac. A wave of fatigue hit her, making her collapse in a heap. The webs of the Frostbite spider were surprisingly soft and the furs of the armour she had on provided the warmth her body needed. She fell asleep rather quickly despite herself not being on a proper bed.

Witseva was standing in the middle of darkness.

No floor.

No walls.

No sun.

No nothing.

She saw a shape of something. Hadvar, but his body was crushed. Half of his face was missing, brains and blood were pouring out into the Void below.

Another figure emerged out of the darkness. Obviously Argonian, as it had horns and green scales. She felt a sense of trust with this person. It was dressed in mage's robes and a hood, which was odd. Distinctively male, by the body shape.

A third person emerged. Another Argonian. This one had a battle axe across their back and wearing heavily modified Daedric armour. Witseva recognised this one as her sister, Beekah.

Both of the Argonians stood by Witseva. The green Argonian readied magic in his hands. His left hand casted an armour spell, encasing his body in a soft blue glow. His right hand had sparks emanating from the fingers to the palm.

Beekah took her battle axe off of her back and held it strongly. Witseva pulled out two katana's, one glowing a deep red and the other having electricity sparking off of the blade itself.

Two red circles appeared high in the air. Some very familiar features showed themselves. Coal black scales, horns and spikes radiating at different angles and a long tail. Witseva realised that this was the dragon that attacked Helgen, but somehow she didn't feel afraid. She felt ready to face this beast.

It roared. Her two companions stumbled a bit and Witseva's vision went white. The white didn't fade, it kept getting brighter.

Witseva awoke with a small start, feeling afraid about any threats. The cold was starting to get to her, as her movements were getting more and more sluggish. The heating ring was still on her, so the cold overpowered the ring's enchantment.

She got up, the webs giving way. She had no idea what the time was, so she didn't know if it was still night or not. She had to finish this quest, but she felt compelled to continue deeper into the ruin.

Witseva dropped into a sneaking stance, her technique perfected after twenty years. She walked through the corridors and down the stairs, barely making a sound.

When she reached the crypt part, she had to be really careful. Witseva carefully stepped over Arvel's corpse and the now fully dead Draugr, not wanting to trip and make a ruckus.

Clang... Clang, Clang.

Witseva stopped. She was waiting to see if anything reacted to the sound and what that sound was. A familiar longsword was a metre in front of her. She made the sound. Nothing seemed to have reacted to the sound, so she continued on.

A raised stone was in front of her. Obviously a trap, considering that a spiked wall was to her right. Witseva snuck around it. A breeze came through the dead halls, making Witseva shiver. Something went up her nostrils.

"ACHOO!"

Witseva fell backwards and tripped over the raised stone. The trap activated, sending the wall flying towards her. She somehow managed to find foot purchase between the spikes and the wall sent her skidding across the floor into a pillar. Her vision blurred for some time, her mind in a daze.

She wasn't aware of the remaining Draugr guardians coming towards her. One had a greatsword in both of it's hands while the other sported a war axe and iron shield. They appeared to Witseva as blurry shapes that she couldn't recognise as people. The Draugr looked at each other and, apparently thinking that she was dying, walked away from her.

Witseva's vision managed to clear up but she had a killer headache. She clutched her head hissing all the while. The Draugr looked back to her, reacting like a live person would, and Witseva looked at them wide eyed. She stumbled to get back up, but she couldn't fight them as she was still woozy from the trap.

She managed to stumble and trip over to the other side of the room, towards the trap. The Draugr walked over there, weapons raised threateningly. When they were close enough, Witseva jumped over the stone and through the corridor. The lead Draugr stepped on the stone, activating the trap and sending both to a full respite from living.

"Finally." Witseva wheezed out, sliding down the wall into a sitting position.

The cold inside was definitely unnatural, making her more and more sluggish with each passing minute. She felt her eyelids closing, but managed to keep them open enough to see out of.

"Need... to... finish... what I... started." Witseva croaked, standing back up.

The hallways were reminiscent of the tombs she encountered all around Black Marsh. One way to go through and lots of corners. She saw a clump of Hanging Moss and got an idea. She casted her Flames spell on it, making it catch alight. The burning clumps fell onto the ground and warded off the cold enough to heat the freezing Argonian. She did this continuously the further she walked down.

She felt something odd beneath her feet. She looked down. Oil coated the floor, and lots of it. A draugr was patrolling the hall, great-sword was hefted dangerously on it's right shoulder. A lantern of oil was above Witseva's head. When the draugr stepped into the oil, Witseva cut the ropes and moved out of the way, making the lantern fall, crack open and light up the entirety of the oil. The draugr was burnt to the point of being unrecognisable. The trap caught the attention of other draugr in the hall. They stepped out of their vertical tombs, drew what weapons they had, and trudged off towards the sounds.

What might be described as a lack of awareness, the two draugr walked right into the flaming pools of oil. Witseva could watch the hilarity as they all burned. Being selfish, she stayed where she was to soak the heat in. Even when the oil was completely burnt out, the ambient heat was still there warming the Shadowscale's body.

When she was sure that the hall was clear, she continued on.


	6. Adventures in Bleak Falls Barrow part 2

**So sorry about the long wait. Here's a chapter for your wonderful patience.**

**Word of warning though: This isn't my best chapter, so don't shit me if you think it's crap because I already know that.**

The hallway ended in a small room, a river running through the centre of it. A coffin on the other side of the rock bridge was forcibly opened, another Draugr stepping out. It noticed Witseva and drew it's battle axe from it's back.

'Not again.' Witseva thought, drawing her mace and dagger.

She waited for the Draugr to pass over the bridge. Her body went into auto-pilot. She drew her left arm back and threw her dagger straight at the Draugr's head. The outcome was the complete opposite of Helgen, with the dagger lodging itself deep into the skull of the dead man. The Draugr crumpled, it's momentum making it fall forwards as well as down. Witseva stood there in the throwing position, unable to comprehend how the undead can be killed only by a major head wound. She walked towards the corpse and looted it, after checking if it was really dead.

A chest was on the other side of the bridge. Witseva also saw the locked gate on the stream that flowed underneath the bridge. Greed overtook Witseva's thoughts and looted the chest, it's contents weren't anything of real value. Witseva looked all around the section, looking for a lever of some sort to open the gate. She couldn't find one but, when she looked back over to the gate, she saw a chain which she could pull down. She walked over to the bank of the river.

She stepped over the small mound of dirt that encompassed the bank and into the flow. Cool water reinvigorated her, but Witseva had a definite job to do. She strode through the stream and pulled the chain. At first nothing happened but, when Witseva was about to pull the chain again, the gate beside her sprung to life and opened up. She walked through the now open gateway.

Following the tunnel, she came to a cave of sorts. Glowing mushrooms filled the cavern, providing light to areas where the ambient light can not get to. A stream ran through the cavern, eventually falling off a ledge. Witseva followed it, keeping to the shadows in a crouch. While sneaking through, she came across a skeleton in rags lying down beside a vein of iron ore, two pickaxes were beside it. She came up to it and looted the body of anything of distinct value. Witseva picked up one pickaxe and decided to use it to get the iron ore in the vein.

Three minutes of chipping away at the rock made Witseva have more respect for the people who initially made the Shadowscale HQ. Her lower back ached from the angle of which she was mining at. But she had three pieces of iron ore to show for it. Taking it slightly easier, Witseva continued on. She continued down the ramp on her right, coming to a section where a Draugr was patrolling the walkway.

"I swear these things are everywhere." Witseva cursed to herself, taking out her bow.

She nocked an arrow into the drawstring of the longbow. She began to pull back on the string, aiming the arrow at the undead person. When the Draugr's back was turned to her, she loosed the arrow. It flew on the straight and narrow, making its way through the undead's neck. It began to claw at its throat, as if it was really dying. It fell to the ground, as it stopped clawing and "died." Witseva snuck up to the corpse and, seeing that the longsword in its hip was still sharp, looted anything of importance and clipped the blade onto her other hip. She continued on, leaving the corpse where it was. She came to an expanse, torchlight illuminating the cavern. She stopped suddenly, gasping quietly in shock. A large shadow was draped across the stone walls, wielding a spear of some sort.

'By the Hist, I hate those things.' Witseva thought, groaning.

The shadow moved out of the wall, and materialised into another Draugr, clad in furs and worn steel. Its weapon was a spear, its decayed hand grasping it like a lifeline. Witseva waited until the Draugr turned away and paced back restlessly, allowing the Shadowscale to sneak up behind a partly broken pillar. She could hear the breathing of the creature, the rattling of the armour whenever it did breathe. She slowly stepped out, slightly distributing her weight so that the equipment didn't move a lot. She took another step, but a stone started to skip across the stone floor, making echoes every time it hit the ground.

"Xuth." Witseva hissed, since she kicked the stone.

The Draugr turned its head, the blue wisps baring holes right through Witseva. It pulled the spear into both of its hands, pointed the tip towards Witseva's crouching form. It slowly advanced, the rusty steel armour it wore shifting with every little movement it made. Its small shuffle quickly turned into a run, a war cry coming from inside its stationary lips. The stab that came was quick, for a corpse. Witseva barely dodged it in time. She dodged every single one of its strikes barely, while still unable to draw her swords.

'By Sithis, Witseva. You're a Shadowscale, one of Them. You can defeat a corpse.' She reprimanded.

The Draugr relented it's mindless assault. That gave Witseva the chance to draw both of her swords. She held the one in her right hand out towards the Draugr and the other one beside her head. She stared deeply into the wisps of eyes that the undead had, which stared back with equal intensity.

The Draugr stabbed once again. Witseva was ready. She parried with her right and spun, striking low with the left. The blade bounced off of the armour, which gave the undead a small window. It used the butt of the spear haft to strike at Witseva's lightly armoured foot. She jumped out of the way, only to rush in once again. She swung downwards with the right. The Draugr raised the spear sideways, blocking the sword. Witseva took this opportunity to stab with the left, only to have that deflected away. They split once again, staring down.

'Xuth. Why does it have to be this way?' Witseva thought.

Her right foot grazed an object. She moved her eyes so that they looked down for a split second. Another rock. The Draugr released a war cry, pointing the spear tip towards the Argonian and running towards her. Witseva needed ideas, but only one came to mind quickly. She raised her right foot behind her and kicked forwards, hitting the rock. It flew towards the running corpse, hitting it in the helmet. It stumbled, dropping the spear. Witseva charged, both swords behind her. When she was directly in front of it, she stabbed at the undead with both swords. The Draugr, knowing its demise was near, dropped to one knee and looked at Witseva, seeing something hidden deep within her waiting to be released.

"Dovahkiin." It whispered, before the wisps were extinguished. It left Witseva puzzled at its word.

She placed a foot on the Draugr's chest and kicked forwards, pulling the two swords out. It took some of the papery skin along with it, but it was scraped off. Witseva sheathed the weapons and continued on.

Witseva had to hide.

Three Draugr were searching for her.

After dodging the swinging axes, Witseva snuck into a small side room. She did it just in time, as a coffin lid was roughly pushed open. She heard the guttural language of the undead, hoping that they weren't talking about where she had gone.

Sweat collected on her scales and slowly slid down them. She was nervous. It was such a long time since she had to sneak around. Her last few contracts, which were common mercenary ones and not of the Shadowscales, didn't require her to sneak around.

'I have lost my touch.' She thought, staying still.

She heard the clanking of steel coming towards her small hidey-hole. It came close, probably close enough so that the Draugr could smell her. It obviously didn't since it walked away. The footsteps of the three Draugr still echoed, but at a lower volume. Witseva quietly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She discreetly looked around the corner, seeing the Draugr sitting on the closed coffin.

She retracted her head and pulled her bow off of her back and nocked an arrow. She stayed crouched, taking a few breaths. Counting to three, she quickly turned, pulled the drawstring and let it go, sending the arrow right into the Draugr's skull. Its head was rapidly pushed back and fell onto the coffin, the wisps being snuffed out. Witseva quickly nocked another arrow into the drawstring, ready for another threat were it to come. None came, but Witseva didn't place the arrow back into the quiver.

Instead, she turned around the corner and looked for another target. A Draugr was acting as a sentry over the stone bridge in the centre of the room. She pulled the drawstring back, applying tension. While she wasn't as good as a friend and partner of hers in the Shadowscales, she was trained extensively in the bow. She aimed and let the tension go, releasing the arrow. The Draugr must've heard the sharp twang of the 'string, as it turned towards the arrow. It struck the forehead, sending it stumbling backwards and over the edge. Its head hit the stone floor with a sickening crack.

It got the attention of the last Draugr in the expanse. It held a greatsword in its hands, gripping it like a lifeline. It descended the wooden steps and looked at its now fully dead comrade. It was oblivious to the fact that the killer was about thirty metres away, at the other end of the room.

Witseva nocked and fired quickly, killing the last Draugr. Luckily, she was able to recover all of the arrows that she fired and continued on. Up the stairs, over the bridge and into a long hallway. There was no place that enemies could hide in. She stood and placed the bow across her back. She saw the large round section of wall at the other end, but took her sweet time getting there since Witseva was caught up in the inscriptions on the walls. When she did reach the wall, she was confused at what was on it.

Three animals were portrayed on three separate circles, each independent from the others. What looked like a keyhole lay at the bottom of the circles, in the middle of the wall. Witseva, curious, took out the Golden Claw and placed the three talons into the three indents on the stone. It was pushed and locked in place. Witseva turned it towards her right, turned it left so that it faced vertical and removed it. She waited, and waited, but nothing happened.

She tried again, only to have the same result. She turned it over, hoping to talk to the inanimate object, when she saw the inscriptions on the base.

"The Claw... the markings in the Hall of Stories... I know how they all fit together..." She remembered Arvel the Swift remarking.

She matched the markings on the circles to the ones on the Claw. It was hard work, since it took a lot of strain on her arms to move them initially. Witseva inserted it again, pushed and twisted it. When she pulled it out, the lower and upper circles changed and the wall began to shrink into the ground, dust falling freely onto the ground.

The largest cavern was seen before her. Water flowed under a natural bridge, moonlight fell through the cracks in the roof high above the cavern floor. She walked through the cavern, seeing bats fly past her twice. She reached the largest feature of the room, a huge stone wall decorated with the most strangest of sigils. And it seemed to be chanting. And three sigils were glowing blue.

Witseva looked towards it, having some sort of connection with it. Suddenly, her vision darkened as blue tendrils of light forcefully entered her brain. Her eyes were closed, but the light never ceased. The symbols emerged on the backs of her eyelids. It was them replaced with legible words.

Fus.

The words distorted again, translating into something that Witseva could understand better.

Force.

Her vision was regained, but her energy reserves were drained as consequence. She sat against the stone wall, reached into her pack, uncorked a stamina potion and swallowed the contents. She closed her eyes once more, tired. But her gut wasn't still. It was registering danger, a feeling that Witseva constantly felt. But stronger than before.

Another coffin lid was bashed open, making Witsevs open her eyes quickly. Another Draugr, more heavily armoured and extravagant, climbed out of the coffin and onto the stone. It drew a greatsword that glowed a light shade of blue in some places.

Witseva stumbled upright and drew her steel sword. She started to run towards the undead, which just stood there with that grimace. It took a raspy breath in.

"**_Fus Ro Dah!_**" It yelled.

A wave of blue magic came forth from its mouth, hitting Witseva right in the chest. The Shadowscale was knocked off of her feet and back towards the wall. Her back collided with it, sending rapid shocks of pain shooting up her spine. The Draugr used Witseva's tactic, running towards Witseva with the greatsword held high. It struck downwards, the blade coming down quicker than what Witseva thought. Witseva just dodged it in time, having the blade scratch against the fur and scales. Small ice crystals formed along the wound, draining much needed energy from Witseva. She stood back up on shaky legs, her back threatening to snap in two. She drew her other sword and picked up the other from the ground, finally having something to sufficiently defend herself with.

The Draugr attacked again, this time with a sideways swing. The arc possibly had enough force to take her head off. Witseva jumped backwards, covering herself with her outstretched sword. She spun to the left and stabbed with the right sword. The Draugr twisted, making the sword tip bounce off of the more well preserved armour it wore. Blows were traded, the Draugr using its armour or greatsword to deflect blows and Witseva dodging every wild swing.

Witseva had an idea, but it didn't feel right though. She sheathed her two swords and projected flames from both of her hands towards the undead creature. The flames enveloped it, but it was slowly walking towards her. Witseva was scared slightly, but she had to keep calm. The undead creature looked like a daedra from Oblivion.

"_Dir Volaan_." It whispered.

Witseva saw that some parts of its armour was melting and that some of the skin caught alight and was peeling away. She felt her magicka reserves were almost completely drained.

'Just a bit more.' She willed.

The Draugr's skin was now completely burned away, but it also was face to face with Witseva. The wisps were staring into Witseva's blue eyes. The Draugr's knees were shaking, since they were now no more than bone.

"_Faaz! Paak! Dinok!_" It yelled into Witseva's face before it crumpled, the light extinguished from its eyes.

Witseva crumpled herself, but from exhaustion. The spell took all of her magicka to use. She waited for the fatigue to pass when she even attempted to stand once more. She took some of the contents from the massive chest beside the coffin. A pouch of gold, two Detect Life scrolls and an odd looking stone. Witseva closed the lid of the chest and looked at the remains of the Draugr, contemplating whether or not to take the greatsword with her. She took it and used the straps of her quiver to aid it to stay still. Witseva saw an overlook, but the stone wall at the back of it looked off.

She walked up the stone steps wearily and had a closer look. Sure enough, there was a small gap in the stone that looked like a small doorway. Witseva turned and saw a lever. She grabbed ahold of it, pulled it out, turned it to the right and back and pushed it back down. The section of odd looking stone sunk back and into the ground.

Witseva walked through the new entrance, dropped from the small ledge and out of the Barrow. And she thanked the Hist that it was daylight still.


	7. A Friend in the Guard

Haj was walking through Windhelm's marketplace. If the horns didn't make him stand out, the robes and hood will. All of the looks were those of either disgust or fear. The eyes of the guards trailed his every move, as if wanting his will to break and brazenly attack everyone so that the guards can satisfy their bloodlust. But someone had the eyes of a proper guard, and only looked at the green Argonian for a few seconds before returning to scan the crowd.

Haj-Jah looked over at the source. A burly Nord, well all were burly, but the heart of someone who saw everyone as equal was on the inside. It gave Haj hope for the Nords, but not enough to replace his sadness. He hasn't heard from Beekah in some time, but that must mean that the Companions are the best thing for her. He slightly remembers Beekah almost start talking about some friend that Haj never knew she had, but dismissed and changed the topic. It also reinforces the fact that the Hist within him feels a familial connection to the Warrior and the Shadow. He knew about the connection with the Warrior, since Beekah was born under it, but he couldn't explain the Shadow.

A punch suddenly knocked him off guard and made him stumble. It was that bloody Khajiit, his claws slightly red with Haj-Jah's blood. The side of his hood was shredded and the scales on his face were split. The Khajiit stalked over to him and picked Haj up from the lapels.

"This is for taking away my profit!" He yelled into Haj's face, spit flying into the Argonian's facial features. Haj noticed that the Khajiit was taller than most of his race. White fur was very rare amongst them as well, since this Khajiit was white with black accents. But his voice pattern was weird, not using third person and sounding like a Redguard.

"Hey! Let the lizard go!" That guard yelled, using the derogatory term for his people in a kinder sense.

The Khajiit threw Haj-Jah back to the ground, turned to the guard and unsheathed a steel dagger. Veins of green and purple flowed across the surface of the metal. The guard, in response, drew out his war hammer and stood his ground. The Khajiit hissed, baring his fangs, and charged the Nord.

The Khajiit sent a very savage downwards swipe towards the Nord, who dodged the keen blade even with the heavy war hammer. The Nord twisted on the ball of his left foot and sound the hammer down in a long arc. The Khajiit rolled out of the way, making the hammer smash into the cobblestones beneath their feet. The Khajiit sent his left fist out towards the Nord's head. It contacted the helmet, making a dull thud and injuring both, the Nord with his eardrums and the Khajiit with a broken hand.

A sideways swing from the hammer made contact with the Khajiit's unarmoured chest. A sickening conflagration of cracks were heard from the chest, most likely the ribs breaking from the impact. The Khajiit flew back about a metre and landed on the ground hard, his head hitting the ground and making him unconscious. Haj-Jah reacted quickly to the possibly serious injury, using the Restoration magic he knew to reset any broken bones back into place but kept enough broken to not seem suspicious.

"I have a lot of respect for the Restoration school. Skyrim could use some more healers." The guard said behind Haj, sheathing his war hammer across his back.

"That's new. A Nord with respect for magic." Haj-Jah responded, finishing his healing.

The Nord laughed heartily, heard even through his helmet. "Well, some schools of magic I hate but at least Restoration is useful for every walk of life."

The Nord gently pushed Haj out of the way and picked up the Khajiit. He slightly walked away before gesturing Haj-Jah to come along, most likely to Windhelm's prison.

"Usually, the Argonians are kept outside the city walls. So, why are you inside, eh?" The Nord asked.

"I... would rather not say." Haj answered, healing the cut on his cheek.

"Awww, come on. Tell me anyways."

Haj audibly sighed. "Alright, smoothskin. I am here as the apprentice of the court wizard." Haj said, using the derogatory term for both elves and humans.

The Nord grunted in response. They finally reached the doors to the Palace of the Kings and went inside, the eyes of the guard out the front glaring holes through Haj-Jah.

"What's with the Argonian escort, Calder? Finally become weak, did you?" The guard asked, sounding distinctively female.

"Funny, Erila. I'm having a conversation with him. And I can still beat you in a fight, no problem." Calder responded, making motions with his head to Haj, who kept his head lowered.

"You know that the lizard has no place inside the city, Calder. Jarl Ulfric should know this. And even worse, he's a mage." Erila argued.

"Be racist all you want, Erila, but don't disrespect Jarl Ulfric. And don't let Wuunferth catch you saying that." Calder argued back.

"Catch what?"

Almost everyone there jumped out of their skins. Wuunferth seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was standing behind Calder and Haj-Jah, arms crossed and not looking even slightly happy.

"N-n-nothing, Wuunferth." Erila stuttered.

"Oh, really? Just so you know, it was Haj's request to be trained here. Both Jarl Ulfric and myself accepted it and welcomed Haj-Jah with open arms. And I was following these two here and caught every bit of conversation." Wuunferth explained, gesturing towards Calder and Haj.

"Invisibility." Haj muttered, smiling slightly.

"I see you can identify magic quickly, Haj. That is good." Wuunferth praised before walking through the group and into the palace.

"See me in Candlehearth Hall tonight for drinks, Haj." Calder said, before walking through the doors and to the prison.

Haj walked through the doors as well, after hissing slightly at Erila. He quickly made it into his quarters. He flung his hood down, showing off the dark green scales and changed from the robes and hood into more comfortable clothing. Orange clothing with black accents and gold trimmings made this very expensive through looks, but were made from common materials.

Haj-Jah looked at the books on his desk. Two new books were there, one on enchanting weapons and armour and the other on the school of Conjuration. Due to the drinks being six hours away, he sat down and read through the pages. Learning new techniques on how to preserve magicka and enchant items with greater potency took four hours.

Haj, since the constant study of the contents made him exhausted, decided to have a quick rest for the remaining two hours until he had to be at Candlehearth Hall. Recently, his dreams were becoming more and more of the same thing. Himself, Beekah and some unknown Saxhleel facing off against something with wings and coal black in a land with a purple sky and a bridge made of bones was behind him.

This dream was similar to this. He was in that place again, seeing the giant of a Nord blocking the bone bridge. Beekah and himself were standing way back while the unknown Argonian was talking to the giant Nord. Both of them drew their weapons, the Nord a sharper-than-sharp battle axe with the unknown Argonian a katana, glowing a deep red. The Nord regularly sent earth shattering blows towards the Argonian, which she dodged with an unsurpassed agility. Haj looked over to Beekah, and noticed that she was in a modified Daedric armour, with various swimming apparatus built in with a larger hole for her tail, and he was in robes meant for the best of arcane users. He looked back to the fight and the Nord was covered in small cuts. The Nord began to rush towards the Argonian, battle axe raised high.

"Come on, Witseva. Do something." He felt himself whisper.

Witseva stood her ground, and drew in a deep breath.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The dream began to glow brighter after the shout. The light kept becoming brighter until it filled up Haj's vision.

Haj awoke as normal as per the first set of nights with that dream. A rapid opening of the eyes and slow sit up. He rubbed his eyes and stood up very shakily. In fact, his legs gave out on him and sent him tumbling straight to the stone floor. Luckily, Haj sent his arms out and his right arm latched onto the bed, saving himself from pain. Using the bed as an aid, Haj-Jah managed to stand up better. He changed into his robes and hood, he even took a cloak for Windhelm's night time temperature.

He walked out of his room, seeing the torches still burning. No one was walking at this time of night, either at home or drinking the night away. He walked through the empty halls of the palace and through the doors. A different guard was stationed out the front, who glared holes through Haj when he walked past. Haj-Jah kept walking straight, going towards Candlehearth Hall. He took the side entrance, where he was greeted by singing and laughing. He looked around for Calder, but didn't know who he was due to not seeing his face earlier. Someone waved in the corner of his vision, so Haj looked over to the waver. He saw a Nord with red hair waving him over to the corner. Haj walked over there, keeping his head low. He took the only other chair there at the table.

"Well, well. Glad to see you here." The Nord said.

"That's you, Calder?" Haj-Jah asked.

Calder laughed, tipping his head back. "Yes, it is me."

"Oh." Haj said, lowering his head and turning away.

Haj-Jah then caught a beautiful sight. A female Argonian, purple streaks painted on her neck and some parts of her face. Her scales were slightly dark, but light enough to be young, possibly just slightly younger than himself. He felt himself staring too long to be appropriate, so he looked away a bit too quick, allowing Calder to look where Haj was looking just before.

Calder swore that the Argonian that Haj looked at turned around to look at him. Calder also noticed that she had her friends along with her. But she was the only female Argonian there. And to make matters worse, she was standing with three other male Argonians. One stood up and strode angrily over to Haj and Calder.

"What are you two looking at, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms and his face in a snarl.

"P-P-Please, just calm down." Haj pleaded, keeping his head lowered.

"Ha. A hatchling. Just so you know, you think you're better than us, am I correct? You live up in the Palace while the rest of us live on the docks." He sneered.

"I am not a hatchling." Haj whispered dangerously.

"Then prove i-" The male started to taunt.

"Neetrenaza, stop!" The female shouted, stomping her way across the room to stand between them.

"But, he was staring at you, Shahvee." Neetrenaza said, indicating towards Haj-Jah, who lowered his head even more at the attention towards him.

Shahvee turned towards him, "Were you really?" She asked Haj.

"I... I.. umm..." Haj stuttered, a faint blush creeping up to his cheeks.

Shahvee giggled slightly, covering her mouth. "Yes, he was. Now, let's leave these two in peace."

Shahvee lead Neetrenaza away from Calder and Haj and back to their spot with the other two Argonians. Since Calder knew next to nothing about the Argonian next to him, he decided to ask a few questions.

"So, Haj, where are you from, exactly?"

"I'm from Black Marsh. From Lilmoth, Southern Black Marsh." Haj answered.

"Wasn't that one of the places that the Flying City attacked?"

Haj stopped. The flying city of Umbra was a weird phenomenon unto itself. But one of his ancestors was one of the very few who survived the ordeal, even though he didn't return mentally stable.

"Yes. It was."

"Any family?"

"A mother and father back home. My older sister is one of the Companions..."

"What! Your sister is one of the legendary Companions?"

Haj didn't answer. He just looked away, embarrassed. Beekah always had more going for her. He was despised in Black Marsh all of his life. Yet Beekah was a role model. Within a few months of being in the King of Argonia's army, she became a legend for other female warriors of her kind. But she didn't like the wars in which she fought, so she wanted to leave Black Marsh for Skyrim. It was then that Haj received an answer from Wuunferth for an approved apprenticeship. And Beekah was all too glad to take Haj-Jah away from Lilmoth and up to the frozen hell of Skyrim.

"... But I also have some connection to the Shadow for some reason. None of my family were born under it, but the Hist begs to differ."

The door to the side of Candlehearth Hall swung open harshly. A grim faced Nord stood in the doorway, bear skin made up most of his armour and a long, white beard was tied down the bottom. Haj-Jah recognised this man and, by the looks of it, so did the other Argonians.

Galmar looked around the tavern. He caught sight of the group of Argonians that he was looking for. He marched through the crowd, closing the door behind him. He stopped in front of their table and crossed his arms, not looking happy in the slightest.

"Get back outside the walls, you lizards. You know you don't belong in here." He said, his voice being very rusty.

"We are fellow living beings. You can't..." Shahvee started to argue.

Rapidly, she was hit across the face by Galmar. She spun slightly and landed on the floor, blood dripping slightly down her cheek. The other Argonians did nothing, but Haj-Jah snapped. He stood up and marched over to Galmar, stood inbetween him and the table, a courage that he didn't know he had before.

"Leave them in peace, Galmar." Haj demanded.

Galmar laughed. "And you're going to do what, exactly? Plead me to death." Galmar mocked, causing the other Nords, except Calder, to laugh.

It only served to make Haj more angry. He knew the Nordic brawling customs, so he used the flat of his right hand and hit it against Galmar's right shoulder, challenging him. Galmar stopped laughing, and returned the gesture, although harder. The tavern became silent, and the moving of tables were heard to allow space for the upcoming brawl. The two moved to the centre and got into a relative brawling stance.

"Do your worst, lizard scum." Galmar threatened, taking off his gauntlets.

"Bite me." Haj replied with just as much venom.

Both stood there for five tense seconds. Haj suddenly moved forwards, sending a right hook to Galmar's face. It was blocked with surprising speed and countered with a jab to the stomach. Haj felt all of his breath rush out of him. He refused to crumble, and kept his guard up for any attacks. There were many strikes from Galmar, all with the same surprising speed, and most of them were blocked. Some made contact with Haj's scaled face and stomach but the Argonian teenager kept standing strong. Even Galmar was getting impressed by the determination. Haj, in an even rare display of carelessness, leapt forwards with quick strikes of his own. A few punches to the face made contact and a savage kick to the gut brought the old Nord veteran down to his knees.

"Stop." Galmar said. Haj dropped his raised fist, listening on what Galmar had to say.

"Why?" Haj asked.

"Just stop. You've impressed me, whelp. I'll get lost for now, until those Argonians leave to outside the walls." Galmar said.

A darker skinned Argonian picked Shahvee up off of the ground and the group filed out of the tavern. Haj-Jah followed the group after half a minute passed. Galmar was about to say something when that happened. Haj just made it to the group when they were about to go past the gate.

"Wait!"

The group turned around to face him. Each looked at him in disbelief on the events in the tavern.

"Why are you asking us to wait? Are you our superior now?" The one holding Shahvee asked, ungrateful and with as much venom as possible.

"No. I just wanted to do this." Haj said, moving close to Shahvee. He readied his Restoration magic in his left hand and carefully moved Shahvee's hand away from her still bleeding cheek. He placed it close to the wound but not touching it. The scales knitted together perfectly, not leaving a scar on Shahvee's cheek. Each of the Argonians were surprised, no one would do that for them ever.

"How can we ever repay you?" Shahvee asked, wanting to make some kind of payment.

"Nothing. Us Argonians have to stick together, yes?" Haj responded.

"Hey, Haj-Jah!"

Haj turned around, seeing Calder walking down the slope towards the group of Argonians.

"Leave us, Nord scum." Neetrenaza cursed.

"Oh, be quiet Neet. If you're going to be rude, leave us." The darker skinned one said. Neetrenaza hissed slightly but stormed out of the gate.

"Sorry about him. Hates all not of Argonian. Scouts-Many-Marshes, at your service." He apologised, shaking the hand of Calder.

"No offence taken. I get enough when walking through the Grey Quarter. I wish I got a patrol on the docks. I've heard stories of you guys... and lady... and the conditions that you work under but I wish to see it for myself." Calder said, surprising every Argonian.

"Well, nice to know that, but we need to leave the gates before the guards on duty arrest us for trespassing." Shahvee said.

Before leaving with Scouts-Many-Marshes, Shahvee turned around and hugged Haj-Jah. Haj felt even more blood rush to his cheeks, mainly due to the contact between them.

"Thank you. For everything." Shahvee whispered slightly, before letting go.

She walked out of the gates, with them closing behind her. Haj stood there, still comprehending the situation that just happened. He shook himself out of his thoughts.

"Well, I'm beat for tonight. I'm going back to the Palace." Calder said.

"Yes, me too." Haj responded, although he seemed a bit out of it.

The walk was silent between the two. When they reached the gates, another bunch of slur was brought forth. This time, another guard and Calder were at it, yelling at the other. But two sentences brought Haj-Jah's attention.

"Has your morals finally caught between you and your work, Calder? You know that anything that isn't human aren't worth the air they breathe?"

"Shut up, smoothskin. Or you might end up like someone that I used to know." Haj said, gaining some weird kind of rebellious nature.

He stormed through the doors, leaving the two guards in shock of what just happened. Haj didn't stop storming though, and soon enough was in his room. When the door closed, his body fell into a state of exhaustion. He fell onto the bed, not bothering to take his robes off or even pull the blanket over him. Haj was asleep almost immediately.

He thanked the Hist that it gave him the confidence that he needed to stand up against Galmar before unconsciousness claimed him.


	8. Return to Riverwood and towards Whiterun

Witseva finally made it out of that gods-forsaken place. But what she saw when she got out was well worth the risk. She could see kilometres outwards, over trees and could see mountains in the distance. Witseva looked down and saw the ground many many metres below, giving Witseva a superiority like never before. She snapped out of it quickly enough, remembering that she still had the Golden Claw to give to...

'What was his name again? That shopkeeper. Ummmm... Lucan Valerius, that's it!' Witseva thought.

She looked down, trying to find the best way to descend without causing serious injury to herself. It was a good thing that the rock formation on the mountainside formed some twisted kind of stairwell. Witseva started to slide carefully down the mountain, stopping at each jutting piece of rock. Twenty minutes and an almost fall later, Witseva Cadorees was safely on the bottom of the mountain. She located the river that flows beside and beyond the town of Riverwood, so she followed it.

She came across a seemingly abandoned hut. She came to the front door, seeing an old hag out the front. Everything looked normal, but looks can be deceiving. Witseva came up to the woman, seeing a hood and robes similar to wizards.

"Oh, don't you worry about me. I'm just an innocent old lady." The woman said, but it did nothing to reassure Witseva.

"Don't you know that you can be attacked by brigands?" Witseva asked.

"Yes, I know. And I am fully capable to defend myself, I assure you." The lady reassured yet again.

Witseva walked away, towards the river. When the lady was out of sight, she turned around back towards the house and went towards the back. To make sure that she did not make any noise, Witseva kept to a crouch and slowly went over the small fence into the garden, being careful along the way. Witseva carefully snuck through the shack, seeing a disguised trapdoor in the corner. She made her way over to it and, finding that it was locked, carefully unlocked it. Witseva opened it, but the hinges made a very high pitched sound.

The old hag came rushing through the house and, upon seeing Witseva in a crouch and partially opened the trapdoor, sent a mixture of fire and electricity towards the guilty Argonian.

"FOOL!" She yelled, keeping the mixture of spells going.

Witseva dropped the trapdoor and rolled out of the way. Taking out her steel sword and the ancient Nordic longsword, she kept moving around yet ever closer. Leans and rolls kept the hag on her toes, so she kept moving back to create some space.

"No one shall know my secret!" The woman yelled again.

Suddenly, the mixture of spells stopped. The woman's magicka has run dry. Witseva went for her counterattack. She dashed through the several metres that separated her to the witch. One final blast of fire was sent Witseva's way, so Witseva made a roll under the blast and, upon standing, stabbed with both sword tips. The flames in the woman's hands stopped. She made gurgling sounds, blood rushing throughout her windpipe. She coughed, spilling up red blood in the process. Witseva pulled out the swords and the woman fell to the ground, staining the surrounding grass red with blood.

Witseva was stunned. An 'Innocent old lady' she was not. Sheathing her swords, Witseva walked back into the house, upon finding the trapdoor, entered the basement. It was dark, lit only by a few candles. An alchemy table and an enchanting table were situated inside it. Various alchemy ingredients were stacked on a bookshelf to her left. But one thing caught her attention the most, a piece of parchment, sealed with a wax seal. Taking out one of her daggers, Witseva swiftly and expertly cut the seal. Unfolding it, she read the contents.

Helgi, dear, why do you hesitate?

You can feel the power coursing through your blood! You have only to reach out and grasp it! Renounce that boy of yours and come, come live with me in the forest. My sister will be here soon.

Together, we can form a proper coven, and your training will truly begin.

Anise.

'That hag was a witch. Looks like I did the world a kind favour.' Witseva thought. She looked around, keeping her eyes at the multitude of alchemy ingredients and flasks. Her greed took over, and stole the ingredients but left the flasks. With ingredients in the pack, Witseva left the basement and the shack behind.

The trudge through the terrain was tough for the Shadowscale. She was nervous, constantly checking her surroundings. Others might think that she was scared of the wildlife and that they would attack her, but she was looking for something more... human than that. The rocks kept a perimeter that anyone could hide behind, so Witseva was extra cautious. Finding that the wilderness was not working in the slightest, she walked towards the river.

When she reached the bank, she dipped her foot in, making the water flow just above the ankle. It was cold, yet refreshing, and flowed quick. She pulled her foot out and subsequently tightened any loose items. When finished, she put her foot on the edge of the surface and, ever so slowly, walked into the river. When the water level was above her head, her gills opened up, allowing Witseva to breathe as if above ground. She felt the river pushing her downstream. Witseva felt the natural webbing extend to cover the spaces between the fingers. When they did, she began to swim free, going even faster and leading herself towards the other side of the river.

About five minutes of swimming, Witseva noticed the lumber mill from underneath the water surface. She surfaced from the water and began to walk up the banks. The Wood Elf lumberjack was partly startled but didn't fully freak out. Witseva crossed the small wooden bridge and over the path. When she came to the double storey building that is the Riverwood Trader, she entered.

"That Argonian must be dead or made off with my claw. Why did I trust her?"

"Give her a few more days, Lucan. She might be lost."

Lucan sighed, "Alright, Camila. I'll wait, but no more than three days."

"Why not wait another three seconds?" Witseva asked, pulling out the Golden Claw and carefully placing it on the countertop.

"You... You did it. Ha ha ha ha." Lucan stuttered. He suddenly stopped laughing and inspecting it. "Strange, it seems smaller than I remembered."

"What was it meant for?" Camila asked Witseva.

Witseva picked it up and inverted the claw, showing the three markings of the animals.

"In the Hall Of Stories, there's this door. Three rings, each having three or four animals on it. The order of which the animals are on here should be the same as what's on the door. The claw acts as some kind of key, as the door opened." Witseva explained.

"Well, that explains why the thieves stole it then. Here's the payment." Lucan responded, giving Witseva two pouches, each filled with two hundred gold.

"My thanks." Witseva said, lifting up the pouches slightly and walked out if the store.

When she stepped out, she put the pouches in a secure place. She began to twirl an arrow that she subtly stole from the store. She walked towards the forge and wanted to put the pieces of iron ore that she managed to mine out of Bleak Falls to good use. However, she could not find a smelter anywhere, so she left to the house. An arrow shunted into the wood of the doorframe. Witseva pulled her longbow out and nocked an arrow into it, scanning the surroundings for who would've shot the arrow. When she didn't see anything, she relaxed on the bow, allowing her to safely take the arrow out of the drawstring.

She turned around and noticed that a note was tied around the shaft of the arrow. Untying it, she unrolled it and read the contents.

Be afraid, Witseva. I have my sights on you.

She knew the scare tactic well. Teineeja was responsible and used this frequently. He was the best archer that Witseva knew. It was said that he once hit his target while hanging upside down and blindfolded. Witseva thought that it was just a tall tale, until Teineeja subtly shot an arrow from forty metres away and hit the middle of a training dummy.

'I would have to be careful.' She thought, walking inside.

Teineeja was sitting high up in the treetops, overlooking the small town before him. It was a shame that he would be killing Witseva next, but she was one of the best Shadowscales in the organisation, Teineeja himself being another of the best, until she did something horrendous. His Elven bow was resting on his left thigh, since his right foot was perched up on the branch and his left was dangling downwards. His black leather armour allowing him to seemingly disappear in the shadows. He doesn't remember why she did it though. She may be a really good friend of his but nothing can make him forgive her.

He spent the first few years of his life on the muddy streets of Black Marsh cities, alone. Just him and his own sea blue scales. He knew how to survive, and did it well. When the Shadowscales finally found him, knowing that he was born under the Shadow, he was taken under their wings. It was in training that he met Witseva, both almost 6. Both excelled, becoming the best out of all of the recruits. They were a team, both were able to kill with either bow or blade, able to sneak through the most heavily guarded fortresses and able to climb the most straightest of trees. But Witseva was a master at blades but was good at firing a bow. Teineeja was the polar opposite, master of the bow and good at a blade.

Teineeja had to admit, he did have some admiration for Witseva. Being able to leave the Shadowscales like the way she did was extraordinary, but rules were rules and she had to die. He saw a rock fly past his face, but he didn't change his facial expression. He looked down and saw a bandit, pulling back to throw another rock at what he thought was a bird. Casually, Teineeja looked back towards the town, pulled out an arrow, nocked it, aimed towards the bandit and loosed it, all within the space of two seconds. A gurgling sound was heard below. Teineeja looked back, seeing the bandit clutch at his throat, blood pouring out where the arrow lodged itself through.

'Where are the guards? Some should be here defending the villagers.' Teineeja thought, making his observations.

He slung his bow over his back and climbed down the tree. With his feet back on solid ground after three minutes of climbing, he casted an invisibility spell so as not to draw attention to himself. He snuck through the town and came up to the door that Witseva went into. He could hear a conversation happening on the other side of the door, although muffled. He put the side of his head up against it to be able to hear the conversation.

"- saw Ralof pass through Riverwood yesterday. I was almost seen by him, but thank the Eight that I stayed in the house." A human must've said.

"Wait, Ralof survived Helgen?" He heard Witseva ask.

"Must've. It was no ghost, as Gerdur had a talk with him."

"Hmm."

There was a pause. It was only two people talking, but Teineeja could hear many footsteps in the house. When the door began to unlock itself, Teineeja dived out of the way so that it wouldn't seem out of place. Witseva and a young Nordic male walked out, deep in conversation. They were walking towards the northern border of the town.

"How would I know what Whiterun looks like?" Witseva asked.

"Simple, you take the road to the right. Follow it and the big city seen is Whiterun. The top most building, Dragonsreach, is where the Jarl resides." The Nord explained.

"Thank you, Hadvar." Witseva said, walking out of the town.

Hadvar walked back to the house. Teineeja snuck past him and began to follow Witseva, but his invisibility wore off so Teineeja recasted it again. Witseva must've not heard it, as she continued walking over the bridge. An assassin that isn't observant is not worthy to be called an assassin.

Witseva looked towards Teineeja's invisible form. Her green eyes looked very...

'Green? I thought they were blue.' Teineeja thought.

Witseva's mouth opened in shock and began to run the rest of the way over the bridge and to the right road. Teineeja immediately began to chase her, the invisibility wearing off when he did so. He pulled out his bow and an arrow. Witseva changed course, running into the forest. Teineeja followed, nocking the arrow into the drawstring. He saw Witseva clambering up one of the trees, using the branches as steps on a ladder. Teineeja, still running, aimed towards Witseva, pulled the drawstring back to the maximum and loosed the arrow. Witseva moved around the trunk, making the arrow miss its intended mark.

Teineeja shouldered the bow and began climbing up a different tree at a faster rate than Witseva. Witseva managed to find a thick branch that she began to run across, away from Teineeja. But, Teineeja managed to leap from his tree to Witseva's and landing on the exact same branch. His bow was out in a flash, arrow nocked and the fletching touching the cheek scales. Witseva stopped, seeing the arrowhead in front of her and the face that she trusted behind it.

The split second that the arrow was released, Witseva leaned back and drew out both of her swords. The arrow flew over her and lodged itself into the trunk behind them. Witseva stood back up to straight and swung the Nordic sword towards Teineeja. He used his bow to deflect the blade over and across his head. He spun, taking out another arrow in a reverse grip and tried to stab Witseva with the arrowhead. Witseva ducked and, using the upwards momentum, leapt up and sent a kick towards Teineeja's nose. The kick connected, making Teineeja stumble a bit. He put the arrow back and pulled out his steel dagger, once again in the reverse grip.

A swipe from Teineeja put Witseva onto the defensive. A few swipes pushed Witseva closer to the tree trunk. Witseva combated this by sending strikes of her own with the swords. This pushed Teineeja back. This trading of blows continued, until Teineeja sent his bow around and hitting Witseva in the side of the face with one of the ends. This made her tip off balance and fall to the ground. It would've killed her, if she didn't sheath one of her swords and gripped a tree branch. Swinging off, she made it to the ground and rolled to lessen the impact. Standing up, she continued to run and sheathed her remaining sword, making the trees a natural barricade from any projectiles sent from Teineeja.

Teineeja began to loose arrow after arrow at Witseva. Whenever he loosed, the arrow sunk into the ground and not into her body. She disappeared from sight and into the shadows. Teineeja knew this trick, it was to make someone relax enough to be killed more easily. In response, he sat down on the branch and pulled the drawstring back, making the fletching touch his cheek. He didn't know how long he waited, but nothing came.

'Witseva must've run off.' Teineeja thought, standing back up and shouldering the bow.

Witseva kept running and running, so as to not allow Teineeja to get a good shot on her. Her heart was pumping and her body was aching. She looked behind for a split second, scared that Teineeja might be following her. When she did, she accidentally bumped into someone. It was hard though, as if made of metal. Witseva fell backwards while the person she bumped into fell forwards, a series of clanking was heard upon impact.

The person that she bumped into was another Argonian. But the Hist within Witseva meant that this person is familiar in some way. The Argonian sported a massive battle axe and iron armour encased them. This one had a shade of brown one lighter than Witseva's. The Argonain stood back up and turned around. Witseva recognised why the Hist acted up. It was Beekah, alive and well. By the looks of it, Beekah also recognised her.

"Hello Witseva. Hell of a way to greet me though." Beekah said, helping her sister up.

"Hello Beekah. Thanks for that, but we need to get out of here." Witseva said, a tone of pleading in her voice.

"Why?"

"Another Shadowscale is after me. But this one's a good friend of mine, so I don't want to kill him."

"Then why don't you wait for him and then knock him out?"

"He's a master archer. He'll kill both of us before we know he's here."

Just when Witseva finished explaining, an arrow sunk into Witseva's left arm. It went through the arm muscle, the head appearing on the other side of the arm. Blood seeped through on both sides of the arm. Witseva screamed in pain and clutched around the wounds. Without second thoughts, Beekah grabbed Witseva by the shoulders and rushed her towards Whiterun. Arrows flew by their faces, splitting the air around them. Finally, they made it to a crumbling stone fence, where Beekah laid Witseva down. Suddenly, the earth shook around them. Beekah looked over the wall and saw Aela, Farkas and one of the other recruits facing off against a giant.

"I'll be right back." Beekah reassured Witseva, who was slowly becoming faint.

Beekah pulled out her battle axe and charged into the fray, emitting a war cry. While the giant turned away from the other three and drew its attention towards Beekah, Aela made a prized shot through the joint of the knee. This caused the giant to fall down onto one knee, making Beekah jump up and swing the battle axe down onto the giant's skull. A series of sickening cracks were heard and blood spurted from both wounds. Beekah pulled her battle axe out of the giant, causing it to fall to the ground and make the ground shake again.

"Our thanks, Beekah. You turned up at an opportune time." Farkas said, sheathing his great-sword across his back.

"No thanks needed. I was just in the area with-" Beekah began, holding the battle axe across her shoulder.

"BEEKAH!"

Beekah ran to Witseva, where another Argonian was pointing an arrow right to Witseva's head. In response, Beekah continued to run towards them. The Argonian turned his head and noticed Beekah too late, as she already came too close and tackled him. The arrow was loosed straight up in the air. Both stood up and got into a fistfight, since the bow was discarded and Beekah had dropped her battle axe. While the Argonian was nimble, his strikes did nothing against Beekah, who's strength was higher but her strikes were slower. A whistling was heard above them. The Argonian rushed towards Beekah. He leapt up onto her shoulders and jumped up. He caught the arrow in mid flight, back flipped in the air and landed flat on the ground, arrow still in hand. He picked up his Elven bow and ran away from the scene.

Beekah picked up her battle axe, sheathed it across her back and went over to her sister, who was now close to becoming unconscious.

"Come on, Witseva. Stay awake." Beekah pleaded.

"Poisoned." Witseva mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Poisoned." Witseva repeated more loudly.

The other Companions came around to see what Beekah was concerned about. She picked up another Argonian, a shade darker than Beekah, who had an arrow in her left arm. She couldn't support her own weight and seemed to almost fall down. Farkas rushed to where Beekah was and took Witseva from her grasp. Beekah nodded in thanks, since Farkas was by far the strongest Companion in Jorrvaskr.

"Take her to the Temple Of Kynareth and quick. I'm sure Danica would heal her." Aela ordered Farkas.

Farkas nodded and began to run faster up the hill. What was surprising was that he kept Witseva completely still while running. The other three were walking up the hill quite slowly. When they came up to the gates, they saw that it was closing. The guards, garbed in yellow, noticed the three other Companions and motioned the guards to reopen the gates. Allowing them to walk through peacefully, they closed the gates behind them.

"So, who was that Argonian, Beekah?" Aela asked.

"That's my sister, Witseva." Beekah answered, shock written across Aela's face.

"Why did she come here? And how did she get injured so badly?" Aela asked.

"She is a Shadowscale, but not in service. She abandoned the organisation. The one that injured her was a friend of hers. They are sending other Shadowscales to kill her for something that I am not sure what." Beekah explained.

Aela nodded in silence, deep in thought. "This friend of hers, is he a capable archer?"

"You need to ask her that question. Let's hope that Farkas made it in time before the poison took hold." Beekah said, quickening her paces.

It wasn't difficult to follow the trail that Farkas took. Drops of blood paved the ground and stunned bystanders kept their eyes following the trail of blood. Beekah couldn't believe it. She just reunited with her sister to have her stolen from her. She kept quickening her paces until she came to a run. She ran up the steps, past the dying Gildergreen and into the Temple of Kynareth. Beekah looked around the temple and saw Witseva lying down on one of the stone slabs unconscious and Farkas breathing heavily from fatigue. Danica was kneeling down on the side of Witseva, casting Restoration magic to heal her sister, but that only healed the surface wounds. When that was done, not leaving any scars, Danica gently lifted Witseva's head and poured the contents of a flask down her throat. Witseva coughed but the contents stayed within Witseva's system.

Danica stood back up, her work done for now. She noticed Beekah looking at Witseva and walked over to the warrior Argonian.

"She's healed, Beekah. She just needs some rest." Danica informed, bowing her head slightly.

"Thank you, Danica." Beekah said before leaving for Jorrvaskr.

When she did reach the lodge, there was jovial drinking happening within. Right now, Beekah didn't want to drink with her Shield-Brothers and Sisters, but wanted to rest. So, she went to below the drinking hall to where the beds were located. Finding her bed, she got the armour off and changed into something more casual. Once she did, she got underneath the woollen blanket and fell asleep.

**Any reviews are welcomed.**


	9. Helping Whiterun Hold

**Almost 6000 words. My longest chapter yet. I know that experienced writers can achieve this no problem, but this is a milestone for me.**

Witseva was waking up. She could feel a dull throbbing in her left arm, but she couldn't move anything. Her vision was blurry at best, and darker than usual, as if seeing through her eyelids. She moaned, gaining the attention of a priest. A Nord female, but Witseva couldn't tell. She felt herself getting better, since the pain started to dull more and her vision was getting better. The priest was definitely what Witseva guessed before.

A door was opened on the far side. A series of armour clanks were heard and was getting louder. Witseva turned her head towards the annoying sounds. Beekah and what must be one of the guards were walking towards her.

"Now, tell me. What brings you to Whiterun?" The guard asked, going straight to business.

"I bring news from Helgen." Witseva croaked out.

"Oh?"

"A dragon attacked it, and the people of Riverwood fear that they may be next. Alvor wants guards stationed in Riverwood for defence." Witseva explained.

The guard laughed. "A dragon? They haven't been seen in forever. What makes you think that they would magically turn up now?"

Beekah's eyes flashed in anger and turned to the guard. "We never hear anything about the other provinces in Black Marsh. We don't believe. But what Witseva saw must've been real, as she is a very rational person."

The guard stood in silence for a few seconds. Beekah or Witseva couldn't tell his facial expression because of the full face helmet he wore. He turned his head to Witseva's lying form.

"You said you needed to see the Jarl, yes?"

Jarl Balgruuf was sitting in his throne. His steward, Proventus Avenicci, was droning through a list of requirements for today. His Housecarl, Irileth, was standing on guard, her eyes scanning every millimetre of the hall in fine detail. Balgruuf shifted, since the throne he was sitting on was deathly uncomfortable. Or was it the many eyes of the dignitaries from the other Holds, from the Empire and from the Thalmor?

Proventus partially read something about his allegiance to the Imperial Legion.

"No." Balgruuf interrupted.

"But, my lord, what if Ulfric Stormcloak was to attack you and you needed-" Proventus tried to ask.

"I said no. No legionaries. The guards of Whiterun can handle any Stormcloak threat." Balgruuf interrupted again, this time more firmly.

The doors on the other side of the hall opened, filling the room with noise. The three at the other end drew their eyes towards the doors. Irileth and the two guards each drew their swords, just in case it was an assassin in common clothing. Footsteps were heard coming up the steps. Irileth slowly walked down the stairs and towards the other end. Two Argonians, one in iron armour, the other in plain furs, were walking up the steps.

Irileth knew the one in iron, but not the one in furs. The one in furs drew out a steel sword and pointed it at Irileth, in response of Irileth pointing her sword at her.

"What is the meaning of this? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." Irileth said, still pointing the sword at them.

"I bring news from Riverwood. A dragon has attacked Helgen." The one in furs said.

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in then. Come, the Jarl would want to speak with you." Irileth said, sheathing her sword in a sign of peace.

In response, the Argonian sheathed her sword but kept tense, ready to defend herself at a second's notice. They followed Irileth up to the throne.

"My lord, a message from Riverwood." Irileth said.

This clearly piqued the Jarl's attention. He sat up slightly straighter and his eyes focused on what was about to be said. Irileth whispered into the Jarl's ear, the Jarl slightly nodded in appreciation and understanding.

"So, I believe you were at Helgen. Tell me, were you able to see this dragon?" The Jarl asked, his voice gruff yet young.

"Yes. I got a good view of it when the Imperial Legion was trying to cut off my head." The one in furs replied.

Balgruuf laughed. "Well, criminal records aside, was there anything else?"

"It was heading this way, as far as I could tell. And Alvor petitions for Riverwood to be guarded." The one in furs answered.

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right. So, what do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should send a detachment to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if the dragon is lurking in the mountains." Irileth said.

"The Jarl of Falkreath may see this as a provocation. He may assume we are preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should wai-" Proventus tried to reason.

"Enough!" The Jarl said firmly. Both Irileth and Proventus quietened for the Jarl to speak.

"I will NOT stand idly by while a dragon burns MY Hold and slaughters MY people!" Balgruuf said. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." Irileth said, walking away from the Jarl to make her way to the Captain.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus said.

"That would be best." Balgruuf said.

He looked to the two Argonians in front of him, especially to the one in furs. "Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative." A guard came with heavy Imperial armour. "Here's a reward for your troubles. Now, let's go see Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into these dragons and... rumours of dragons." The Jarl stood up. The one in furs picked up the armour and put it back into the guard's arms, shaking her head.

They followed the Jarl into a side room, filled with alchemy and enchanting ingredients. Spell books were stacked untidily on the desk. A huge map was spread across one side, various dagger holes were stabbed through the parchment. The court wizard seemed too involved with packing some of the spell books into a leather bag for a courier to take and didn't notice the Jarl.

"Farengar." The Jarl said softly, as not to startle the man.

Farengar looked at the Jarl. It surprised the two Argonians that Farengar was a young Nord or Imperial, since they thought that he would be a lot older.

"I've found someone who can help you with your... dragon project. Go ahead, fill..." Balgruuf started, stopping to ask the Argonian in furs what her name is.

"Witseva, my lord."

"-Witseva in with all the details." Balgruuf finished.

Farengar walked up to Witseva. He was slightly taller than Witseva, but was the same height as Beekah. He was scrawny, probably never held a sword in his entire life. A dagger was seen on his left hip, as a means of last defence.

"So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me." Farengar said, crossing his arms.

"He sure does. What needs to be done?" Witseva responded.

"I, uh, need you to fetch something for me."

"Uh huh, and what needs 'fetching?'"

"Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious 'how's and whys?' I like that. I, uh, learned of an ancient stone tablet. A Dragonstone, located in Bleak Falls Barrow. Go to the ruin, get the tablet, no doubt interred in the main chamber, and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Farengar said.

Witseva's eyes widened. She carefully dropped her pack and begun to search through it. She didn't stop until she found the one thing she was looking for. She pulled it out, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Witseva asked.

"Wha- The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow? You already found it?" Farengar carefully took it from Witseva's outstretched hand. He ran his hand over the surface.

"You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me."

"I hope there isn't some kind of reward for this." Witseva said.

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that. Maybe his steward, Avenicci, about your reward."

"FARENGAR!"

Irileth ran into the wizard's section, hardly tired from her yell and run.

"Farengar, you need to come quickly. A dragon's been sighted nearby." Irileth looked at Witseva and Beekah. "Best if you two would come too."

Farengar's eyes opened, like a little kid unwrapping a present. He walked up to Irileth.

"A dragon. Where was it seen? What was it doing?" Farengar asked, if a little too enthusiastic.

Irileth seemed to share the same thought as Witseva and Beekah. "I'd take this a little more seriously if I were you. If the dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it."

The four then ran out of Farengar's section and towards the side of the Jarl's throne. A guard, who was trying to heave air through the helmet, was ordered to run with them up the stairs. The Jarl was leaning over a desk with Proventus, looking at a map with little coloured flags. Witseva couldn't care less about it. Jarl Balgruuf noticed them and stood up straight.

"My Jarl, one of the guards came from the Western Watchtower, where a dragon has been sighted." Irileth said.

"So, Western Watchtower, eh?" Balgruuf asked the guard.

"Yes, my lord." The guard answered, coming up behind Irileth.

"Tell him what you told me, about the dragon." Irileth said.

"Oh, yes, umm... It was coming from the south. It was fast, faster than anything I've ever seen." The guard said.

"Did it attack the watchtower?" Balgruuf asked.

"I don't know, my lord. I ran here. I never ran so fast in my life. I thought it'd come after me for sure."

"Good work, son. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it." The guard saluted and left. Balgruuf turned to Irileth. "Irileth, get some men and get down to the Western Watchtower."

"I've already mustered my men down near the main gate." Irileth said.

"I would like to go. I'd very like to see this dragon." Farengar said.

"No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I'd like you to research ways to defend our city against these dragons." Balgruuf said. Farengar was disappointed, but orders were orders, so he went down the stairs and back into his study.

"There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friends. I need your help again." Balgruuf said to Witseva and Beekah.

"Um, my lord, we didn't do anything special. Why do you still need us?" Witseva asked.

"You survived Helgen, so you have more experience to dragons than anyone. And I haven't forgotten what you did for Farengar, so I have permitted Proventus to allow you to purchase property within the city." Balgruuf said. Witseva just shook her head, not believing what is happening. She does not want to go out there again.

"And also a gift from my personal armoury." Balgruuf continued.

A servant brought out two pieces of armour. One made of leather and glowing a bright red, and the other made of steel, glowing a bright green. Witseva picked up the leather armour and, noticing that it was way better than the lowly furs she had on, kept it and similar to Beekah with the steel armour.

They went to separate changing booths and got the new armour on. Witseva felt more healthier and Beekah felt more energised than normal. When they came out back to the hall, they caught the last piece of conversation between Irileth and Balgruuf.

"Irileth, this isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with." Balgruuf ordered.

"Don't worry, my lord. I am the very soul of caution." Irileth said.

The Dark Elf turned around and beckoning the two Argonians to follow, went down the stairs, through the Great Hall and out the door to the Cloud District.

Teineeja was finally able to get into the city of Whiterun. He thought that climbing over the walls would be easy, but no. The guards of the city were eagle-eyed and shot at him when he was trying to sneak by under Invisibility. Not to mention that the walls themselves were smooth with very few handholds.

He was crouching behind a corner, under Invisibility, where a group of four guardsmen were standing. Suddenly, three people turned up from behind them. One Dark Elf, clad in leather, and two Argonians. He recognised Witseva easy, but the other Argonian he didn't know personally but he did remember that she was the one he fought just outside this city.

"Here's the situation." The Dark Elf said, gaining the attention of the guards and of Teineeja.

"A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." She continued.

'A dragon. What in the Hist is that?' Teineeja thought.

A series of mumbles of disbelief and questions arose from the four guards.

"You heard right. I said a dragon."

"But, Housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?" One of the guards questioned. Teineeja wondered what a Housecarl is.

"You're right. None of us have ever SEEN a dragon before, or expected to ever face one in battle. But we are honour bound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening OUR homes, our FAMILIES." The Dark Elf answered. "Would you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

There was silence in the four guards.

"So what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" The elf continued.

There was a mix of responses from the four, but all equated to a yes in some way.

"Let's move out." The Dark elf said, turning away.

The Dark Elf and the four Nords ran away towards the gate. The Argonian in steel begun to walk with the guards, but noticed Witseva standing still, head down. She walked back.

"Witseva, are you all right?" She asked, grabbing onto Witseva's shoulders.

"I don't know, sister. I... I-" Witseva said, but soon turned silent, shedding tears.

'Witseva has a sister? That's one thing I've learnt today.' Teineeja thought, his eyes widening at the news.

"I fear it may be the dragon I encountered at Helgen. If so, we don't stand a chance." Witseva said.

"What if it isn't? We just kill the thing. Now, come on. The others are waiting." Witseva's sister said, beckoning to the gate.

Witseva took a breath and exhaled, in the way that was taught to all the Shadowscales to remain calm in times of great stress. A nod from her meant that the two Argonians ran out of the gate and continued on with the guards. Teineeja followed silently, but leapt over the walls instead of going through the gate. His eyes, trained to see minute details, tracked the seven on their forced march to the Western Watchtower.

They ran down the hill, past the drawbridge and the outer gate, all with Teineeja following silently. When they got out onto the open plains, it became easier to see them, but also easier for Teineeja to be seen if the Invisibility were to wear off. The march took twenty minutes, at which they stopped at a rock formation that overlooked a ruined tower, various pieces of wood were burning and stone bricks were strewn across the ground.

"A dragon did this?" Beekah asked. Teineeja was thinking the exact same thing.

"They can breathe fire, smash through rocks with only their heads and scales that are harder than the ground itself. I can believe." Witseva answered, her eyes never leaving the destruction before them.

Irileth looked over the carnage. "No sign of any dragon right now. But it sure looks like he's been here." She turned to the four guards. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere."

She drew her steel sword, along with the guards, who drew their mixed assortment of weapons. Beekah drew her steel battle axe and advanced along with the rest. Witseva stayed behind, sensing a presence that no one else sensed. In a flash, she drew one of her daggers and pointed it at a piece of air. It was shimmering, and an Argonian with blue scales appeared.

"Teineeja." Witseva said, holding her dagger still.

"Witseva." Teineeja responded, moving slowly so to not cause provocation.

"I want you to help us defeat the dragon. Stay hidden, though." Witseva ordered, sheathing her dagger and running back to the group, drawing her longbow in the process.

"As if I'd help a traitor." Teineeja muttered, becoming invisible once again to disappear from the battlefield altogether.

Witseva caught up with the group. Each guard was spread out along the remains, keeping their eyes on the skies around them. Irileth was at the outer edges, scanning like the guards. Beekah held her battleaxe on her shoulder, looking at the carnage around them. Witseva walked upwards to the ruined tower, where a Whiterun guard was coming out in a crouch.

"No. Get back. It's still here somewhere. Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it." He said.

Witseva went up the ramp, obviously what remains of stairs, and into the tower, which remained sturdy and intact for the ruins around them. A roar was heard in the distance. It didn't sound like any other animal that Witseva remembers, so that could only mean one thing.

"Kynareth save us. Here he comes again!" The guard said.

Witseva ran outside and looked to the East, where all of the guards were looking. Flying right towards them was a dragon, green scales distinguishing the flying lizard from the sky around it. It flew over the watchtower, shaking the ground as it passed, and began circling. Each of the guards took out their bows. All of them kept shooting at the wyrm, but the arrows were barely penetrating the scales. Beekah, since she didn't have a bow, began to yell insults at the flying lizard.

"Come on, face me! Don't be a coward!" Beekah taunted, opening out her chest and holding her battleaxe in one hand.

The dragon seemed to respond, as it circled back around and began diving towards the ground. It opened its wings out to slow it down and landed on the dirt, uplifting some and making the ground tremor. Some of the guards drew their melee weapons and some kept their bows out. Beekah, Irileth, and the guards rushed in, determined to bring the dragon down. The dragon inhaled and breathed out a stream of flames towards the group of incoming fighters. Most of them dodged the flames, but one guard didn't react fast enough. The flames enveloped him, searing his skin and melting the armour so that it would stick to his skin. The screams of pain echoed across the watchtower battlefield. The flames ended, showing the combatants what was left of the guard, a molten mess of burnt flesh and melted armour.

The combatants have now engaged the dragon in melee. The steel hardly impacted through the scales of the face and body, until one guard sliced through the wing with his longsword. The dragon roared in pain, and swung his head around to meet the attacker. The skull impacted the chest of the guard, sending him flying backwards with a few broken ribs and concussed. Witseva slung her bow over her shoulders and drew her steel sword, running in to meet the wyrm. The face of it was bloodied, the wound on the wing was also bleeding profusely, and the dragon was stumbling slightly. It noticed the Argonian assassin running towards it and, sensing something ancient within her, turned to face the threat. It leant its head back and went forwards, aiming to bite her in its powerful jaws. Witseva, reacting subconsciously, pulled the sword to her left and swung upwards towards the dragon's nose. It connected, making the dragon recoil it's head. It lowered on the horizontal, dazed. Witseva ran around and leapt up onto the head. The dragon, knowing that the pesky little lizard was on top, tried to snap at the Argonian. Witseva, once she got accustomed to the jostling, stood straight to an extent and stabbed downwards with the tip first. Somehow, the blade went through the scales, but was stopped by the thick bone. So she turned around and sent the tip through the base of the skull. The dragon reared up, sending the Shadowscale rocketing over the body and crashing into the tail.

The dragon collapsed, dead. Blood continued to flow out of its multiple wounds and onto the dirt. The guards, Irileth and Beekah all sheathed their weapons and began to walk towards the corpse. Witseva stood up shakily. Suddenly, the scales of the dragon began to burn away.

"Everyone, get back!" Irileth ordered.

Everyone obeyed, hiding behind whatever rubble they could fit behind. However, Witseva wasn't quick enough. But multiple streams of light radiated from the burning dragon corpse and made their way into Witseva's body. Witseva had never experienced pain like it before. It was like many fires were burning throughout her body. Suddenly, the pain stopped, making the Shadowscale fall to the ground, exhausted. One of the guards widened his eyes at the sight, recognising the power. Beekah came out of the rubble and ran towards Witseva, helping her up shakily to her feet. The guards ran up to Witseva and the corpse of the wyrm.

"I can't believe it. You're... Dragonborn." One of the guards say to Witseva.

Witseva, however, had no idea what the Nord in front of her was talking about. "Dragonborn? What's that?" She asked.

"In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay them and steal their power. That's what you just did, isn't it?"

"I... I don't know."

"There's only one way to find out. Try to Shout, the way the dragons do."

Witseva didn't know what he was talking about. 'Shout? The way the dragons do? Is this guy on skooma or something?' She thought.

The word that Witseva saw in Bleak Falls Barrow came to her. Force was written into her vision and translated back to Fus. Witseva looked up to the sky, trying to rid her mind of the word.

"To Shout you need to... well... shout it. Not to think it." The same guard said, a joking tone in his voice.

Witseva heeded the advice, willing herself to calm down. She opened her mouth. "**_FUS!_**"

A wave of blue energy went right into the sky. Some of the guards gasped, unable to comprehend the power, while some stared silently in shock.

"That was Shouting, what you just did. You really are Dragonborn, then."

That statement ignited a conversation between the guards.

"That's right. My father used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like ol' Tiber Septim himself." Another guard said, walking up to the group.

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Another stated.

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're coming back now in the first time in... forever." The original guard taunted.

One of the guards turned to Irileth. "Tell us, Irileth, do you believe in this Dragonborn business?" He asked the Dark Elf.

Said Dunmer snorted. "Some of you are better off fighting than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about." She said. "Here's a dead dragon. And that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Anyone who can put down a dragon is good enough for me."

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord." One guard made the mistake of saying.

"I've been all across Tamriel. I've seen things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you to trust in the strength of your sword-arm than over tales and legends. Now, Argonian..." Irileth answered, gaining Witseva's attention later, "go back to Whiterun and tell the Jarl about this. The rest of you, count out the wounded and killed."

Witseva and Beekah nodded and began walking towards Whiterun, still visible in the plains of Whiterun Hold. Both knew that a shadow was stalking them, but wouldn't attack them in plain sight of the city. But what they didn't know was that the shadow won't attack them, since he needed to get word to the Shadowscales about Witseva.

A thunderclap resonated around the plains and, possibly, all of Skyrim.

"**_DOVAHKIIN!_**"

Just as quickly as it was heard, it was gone. The skies haven't changed, never once became cloudy. The only explanation that both Argonians could come up with was that really powerful magic was used to project that voice. Recovering from the shock that the thunderclap produced, they began to jog to the city of Whiterun.

It was nearly night when they reached the inside of the gates. They quickly hurried to Dragonsreach, where Jarl Balgruuf would like to hear the news. They burst through the massive wooden doors and up the stairs, where Proventus, the Jarl and another Nord were in deep conversation. Proventus noticed the two and deferred from the conversation, leaving the two Nords talking.

"Ah, it's good you come. The Jarl would want to speak to you." Proventus said when the two Argonians came close enough.

"You heard the summons. What else could it mean?" The Jarl asked.

"There's only one group who can do that." The other Nord answered.

"The Greybeards." Jarl Balgruuf finished.

The other Nord turned around, noticing the two.

"We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

Witseva and Beekah walked past the Nord and towards Jarl Balgruuf.

"So, what happened at the Watchtower? Was the dragon there?" He asked.

Witseva nodded, unable to speak. However, Beekah spoke for her.

"Unfortunately, my Jarl, the Western Watchtower was destroyed by the dragon. The dragon, however, was killed by Witseva."

A smile crept across the Jarl's face. "I knew I could count on Irileth and her choices." He exclaimed. His senses said otherwise, noticing something underneath the silence of the Argonian in leathers. "But there must be something more happening."

Beekah looked towards Witseva, who was breathing erratically and swallowing. "It turns out that I may be something called Dragonborn." Witseva explained.

Balgruuf was intrigued, but feigned it as confusion. "What do you know about this Dragonborn?"

"When the dragon died, I... absorbed some kind of power from it." She explained.

Jarl Balgruuf leant forwards, getting his back off of the throne.

"So, it's true..." He started, unsure about how Witseva would react. "... the Greybeards really were summoning you."

"The Greybeards?"

"Masters in the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion on the slopes of the Throat of the World."

"Do you know what they want with me?"

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, then they can teach you how to use your gift."

"Did you hear that thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?" The other Nord said.

Witseva turned, and saw his piercing eyes behind the red war paint. The eyes of a warrior, similar to Beekah. Witseva's were the eyes of an assassin, calculating, searching for threats and targets. Witseva nodded her assent.

"That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar. This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself when he was still Talos of Atmora." He explained, his eyes becoming slightly less piercing.

Proventus just had to cut in. "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here?" He asked. Jarl Balgruuf was intrigued by Proventus' remark. However, both Hrongar and Beekah were growling, since the remark from the advisor was an attack on culture.

Proventus pushed his case. "As capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this... what.. 'Dragonborn.'"

Hrongar exploded. "Nord nonsense? Why, you puffed-up ignorant! These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

Balgruuf intervened before Hrongar completely lost his temper. Luckily, Beekah was a lot more tamed than the Nord barbarian. "Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." He scolded calmly.

Proventus bowed his head slightly. "I meant no disrespect, of course." He said.

"I think he did." Beekah whispered to Hrongar, who just barely suppressed a laugh in response.

"I... It's just that... what do these Greybeards want with her?"

Balgruuf looked at Proventus, a look of disdain in his eyes. "That's the Greybeards' business. Not ours."

He waved Farengar over, who was given a note to pass down. He ran out of Dragonsreach, most likely to give the note to someone. He looked back to Witseva, who was waiting patiently. Balgruuf leant forwards, past his knees.

"Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you. And the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" He said, his voice dropped low. He smiled and looked off into the distance slightly. "I envy you, you know. To climb the 7000 Steps again. I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder if the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before."

He quickly leant back, waving his hand up. "Bah, no matter." He said in that same low tone. He raised his voice after that. "Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you."

The door to Dragonsreach opened once again. Farengar, Irileth and an unknown Nord woman in steel armour were walking up the wooden steps. Jarl Balgruuf stood, and all of the visiting dignitaries in the lofts went to the edge to see the proceedings of what's happening below.

"You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn." He announced. Balgruuf walked down the steps, coming "eye-to-eye" with Witseva. But it was difficult since Nords were generally taller than Argonians.

He placed his hands on Witseva's shoulders. "By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honour that is within my power to grant."

Witseva looked down and away, not wanting this to happen. She wanted to stay low-profile, and this foolish Nord gave her a title. One that made her really high-profile. Irileth handed Jarl Balgruuf a steel sword with bright red flowing across the surface.

"I assign Lydia," He motioned towards the Nord in steel, "as a personal Housecarl, as well as weapon from my armoury to serve as your badge of office." He gave Witseva the sword, which she took with humility.

"I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think your part of the common rabble, now would we?" He continued, prompting a laugh from most of the inhabitants of Dragonsreach. "We are honoured to have you as Thane of this city, Dragonborn."

With that over, he turned around and sat down onto the throne. The main room of Dragonsreach exploded in noise, with uproars coming from the rafters. But Witseva's eyes caught something different, the shimmers of a body under Invisibility.

'I will save myself from you, Teineeja. I hope that at least you can forgive me.' She thought.

She didn't see the shimmer of a bow, one that was pulled and trained on Witseva. Teineeja silently let out a breath, and released the tension. The shot uplifted the magical cloak from his body, but the arrow wouldn't miss. The pandemonium that will ensue will allow Teineeja to escape.

'Too bad you won't train with these Greybeards. As you will be dead!' Teineeja thought as the arrow was released.

The arrow was flying at Witseva, heading straight for her heart. He could see the fear in her eyes, the ones that he has seen many times before alongside her in their victims, the ones that can see their final moments.

He didn't remember the Nord that was sworn into her service.

She quickly raised her shield up and made the arrow deflect harmlessly off of the steel. It was quick, one that shouldn't of been possible in steel or heavy armour in general. Teineeja quickly leapt off of the beam he was squatting on and ran out the door, disappearing from view when he did.

The reaction time of Lydia astounded even Irileth. In the time that it took Irileth to even attempt to draw her sword, Lydia ran over and deflected the arrow with the heavier shield and armour.

'She truly is a born Housecarl.' The Dunmer thought.

Lydia lowered her shield, seeing as the threat has passed. Everyone was astounded, except maybe the Thalmor representatives, who were grumbling something about Men.

Witseva, recovering from her shock, turned to Lydia. "Thank you, Lydia."

"I am sworn to protect you, Thane." Lydia answered.

Beekah looked at the arrow, which had a note tied around the shaft. She knelt down and took the note off of the arrow and unfurled it.

_The will of the New King of Argonia and the Shadowscales have been fulfilled._

"Obviously not." Beekah stated in response to the note's contents.

She gave the note to Witseva, who read its contents as well. She smirked. She walked over to the fire and threw the note into the massive fire that was in the centre of Dragonsreach's ground floor.

The three walked out of Dragonsreach, seeing the city of Whiterun in the lights of braziers. They went down the stone steps towards the massive tree, which didn't look too good. They stopped at that tree, facing towards the massive hut.

"I'll be heading up towards Jorrvaskr. Stay safe, sister." Beekah farewelled, walking towards the massive building, where massive sounds of laughter roared from within. Witseva, with Lydia acting as a second shadow, walked down the steps towards the south in hopes to find an inn to stay the night. Luckily for her, she found one as soon as she fully descended.

_The Bannered Mare._

She entered, seeing the inn reasonably full. A bard was in the middle of the chaos, behind the fireplace, playing a kind tune on the flute. She weaved her way through the inn and towards the counter, a Nord behind it.

Witseva ordered a room, which she was given a key to and escorted to. When inside, she changed out of the armour and into her bedclothes. Even in the relatively warm inn, it was still bloody cold. Witseva quickly ducked under the fur blanket, desperately seeking the warmth that it would provide.

She struggled to get to sleep. It was mainly from the months and months of being chased that caused her the restlessness that she felt now, but there also was the incessant noise that was coming from the main room that caused her to stay awake. When she was tired of being tired, that's when the Argonian fell asleep, finally knowing that there was a sword arm and a pair of eyes and ears that would protect her while she slept. She fell into the deepest sleep that she had for months.


	10. The trek to Ivarstead (Witseva and co)

**Holy crap! I am sooooo sorry that it took too damn long to write. I had rather severe cases of writer's block and schoolwork to worry about. But, now that doesn't matter, since this is finished and I can finally satisfy you.**

**And leave reviews, please. A 1-10 would suffice.**

Witseva began waking up in the Bannered Mare. Since the Companions don't allow just anyone to sleep in their hall, the Shadowscale had to sleep at the local inn, which was fine with her. She stood up, allowing her tense muscles to stretch. The sunlight was seeping it's way through the boards on the roof. She changed into her leather armour, where the right shoulder was a slightly darker shade, thanks to the wyrm's fire.

She went down the stairs, finding the common room already mostly full. Through the crowd, she spotted Beekah and her Housecarl, Lydia, talking, most likely tales of exploits. Lydia, before becoming Witseva's Housecarl, was a soldier in the Imperial Legion. While mostly satisfied, it didn't give her reason to stay, so she came to Jarl Balgruuf in time to become a Housecarl. Witseva ordered something to eat and sat down beside the two warriors. Since Witseva wouldn't dare to tell her story to Lydia, else receive disdain from the Nord.

"So, my Thane, what were you before?" Lydia asked.

"I was an..." Witseva began.

"I think we should leave her backstory until later, Lydia. Wait until she's ready." Beekah interrupted.

Lydia nodded, agreeing with the notion. The rest of the time was spent in silence or light conversation. Or in Beekah's case, writing a letter for someone. When they finished with their morning meal, they stood up, paid for the meal, grabbed their equipment and left the inn. They bought the needed supplies from the general goods store, owned by some sleazy Breton but a good man, and began to walk towards the gate. It was there that they saw two oddly dressed Redguards talking with one of the guards. Beekah just finished paying off a courier, no more than a boy, to send the letter she just wrote.

"Who are they? And what are they talking about?" Beekah asked the group.

"Don't know who they are. But they are talking about..." Witseva began talking but stopped slightly to eavesdrop. "Finding another Redguard in the city. For a crime or something. I think they are mercenaries."

"There are three in the city. Amren, but he was a soldier. Saffir, but she's a pawnbroker. Then there's Saadia, but she only helps with the running of the Bannered Mare." Beekah pondered. "Nope, none are criminals. Or the Companions would've sent anyone to take care of them."

"Bah, don't worry. Let's just leave." Witseva responded, not wanting to get anyone caught up in their troubles.

The gates were opened and the three walked through. The drawbridge was pulled up and the guards were shooting at something for some reason.

"Must be a bear or something." Beekah thought out loud.

The rest thought that she was right, until an arrow sunk into the head of one of the guards atop the wall. The guard dropped the bow and tumbled back, falling off of the wall. The three stared at the corpse, the arrow sunk straight through the skull and into the brain, blood seeping through the helmet. The guards shot their final arrows, checking to see if any more enemies would turn up. None appeared to, so they lowered the drawbridge and revealed what they were shooting at. Six bandits, three were Nords, one Argonian, one Wood Elf and one Orc, laid there full of arrows, their blood staining the dirt track a deep shade of brown/red.

The small party carefully made their way over the corpses and down the hill. It became apparent that the bandits at the drawbridge weren't the only ones. Two Whiterun guards laid amongst three bandits. Two other bandits were dead further down, riddled full of arrows like the ones at the drawbridge. There was even more at the checkpoint, where many bandits were lying in a pool of blood and two Whiterun guards were also lying dead.

"Bandit raid." Beekah deduced.

"Does it happen often?" Witseva asked.

"Not often enough." Beekah answered.

They walked past the carcasses and onto the open roads. Witseva casted some kind of spell from a scroll that made Beekah and Lydia shiver. Witseva looked at Beekah, green eyes staring back at green war paint.

"Detect Life spell. Able to see any ambushes ahead of us." Witseva answered Beekah's unasked question.

Lydia nodded, able to understand the concept. But Beekah knew this to be a lie, it was to see where her Shadowscale 'friend' is hiding. It was further evidenced by the almost 360 degree viewings of their surroundings on the open plains to see an aura. Lydia kept her viewings on the straight and narrow. Beekah kept looking around, but to see a shimmer instead of an aura. Walking past the various farms, Witseva stopped and wondered what life would be like if she wasn't a Shadowscale. Coming back to reality from her daydream, she jogged to catch back up with her two companions, who never knew that she stopped.

She saw a slight red aura in the corner of her vision, so she looked over to get a better look. She saw three separate auras, but she couldn't see the specific details. Suddenly, three wolves jumped out of the growth and began running their way towards the group. The group of three drew their weapons. Lydia rushed in, sword and shield raised. Beekah sidestepped, spun and swung her battleaxe, catching the wolf across the muzzle. It recoiled a bit, allowing Beekah to raise her weapon and swing it in a downwards arc, breaking the neck and killing the wolf. Witseva's way was a lot quicker than Beekah's. She drew her ancient Nordic sword inverted, sidestepped the wolf when it leaped at her, and sunk the tip straight through its neck. Both caught the end of Lydia's scuffle, which ended with the Nord kicking the wolf from under the chin and sending the blade down into the neck.

Witseva gutted and skinned the predators, placing the pelts into her pack, before gesturing to the other two to continue. Beekah and Witseva walked side by side while Lydia was hanging behind them. They got to the crossroads, not knowing which way to go. Witseva looked at her map, but it only served to get her even more confused.

"Do any of you know how to get to Ivarstead?" She asked, still looking at her map for a direction.

"Never been there. Spent most of my time in Whiterun Hold." Lydia responded.

"Been there once, many months ago. Memory's fuzzy, but I might be able to." Beekah answered.

"Remember any directions given?" Witseva asked.

Beekah thought for a minute, hand perched under her chin. "Head southeast to Helgen. Take eastern exit in the settlement. Head north through the pass and forest."

Witseva nodded and began heading towards Riverwood. To be ready for anything, she kept her longbow out. Wouldn't do much good against Teineeja, but it would do best against anything else. They didn't meet any further trouble, so Witseva put the bow back to its original spot. They went along the bank of the river, heading south. They crossed over the bridge to enter Riverwood, where the guards that bore the horse sigil strode past. They seemed to recognise Witseva. One stopped the band of three.

"There's been some talk amongst the guards that you are... Dragonborn. Surely, that must not be true." He said.

"It seems unbelievable, but it is true."

"Then how come it is a dishonourable lizard rather than a Nord?" He asked, rather disrespectfully.

Witseva kept calm. Threatening the guard would only lead to the jails. The guard looked at Beekah, recognising her as well. A few other guards converged onto the small banter.

"Ah, now I remember. You're that new member of the Companions. What do you do? Fetch the mead?" He said, earning a few laughs from the guards around him.

Lydia stepped forwards, coming between her Thane and the guard. The guards seemed to stop laughing, not liking where this is going. Lydia leant forwards, her have coming close to the plate of the guard that started this blatant disrespect.

"You'd better not do this to our Thane, Ralour. She has done more now than you ever done since we first started in the Legion together." She said, with a eery calm to her voice.

The guards dispersed, seeing as how the mocking has turned tense with two Nords possibly coming to blows.

"Fine. You win, Lydia. But ways and traditions don't change." Ralour grumbled before resuming his patrol, leaving the three on the main road.

They began to trek forwards once again, but Witseva stopped and stared at the forge, where Alvor was working in thick smoke and dust. She diverted quickly, towards the forge.

"Alvor!" She yelled, gaining the Nord's attention. When he placed the red hot steel into the trough of water, he received something that he never thought he would get. A hug. And Beekah had to admit, she didn't know that Witseva could show that degree of emotion.

"Thank you. For everything." Witseva whispered into Alvor's ear.

"The one who helped my nephew? The least I can do." Alvor replied, pushing Witseva away.

Witseva walked away, back to the group, and waved to the blacksmith. They departed to the south road, the road that will take them to Helgen. When they were a good distance away from Riverwood, they were ambushed by bandits.

It was a large group, enough so that they could pose some threat. Beekah was the one to rush in, a battle cry coming from her lips. Lydia stayed close to Witseva, her shield raised with the sword pointing just over the shield's rim. It was a tactic that was common in the Legion, which all soldiers learnt. Witseva, her two swords drawn, was quick to dispatch any bandit that came near. But Witseva's movement caught the attention of Lydia, who determined that they were the fluid movements of assassins.

The bandits were dispatched easily, with them having rusty weapons, no combat experience and terrible armour. Cleaning the blood off their weapons, the three continued on. They passed the Guardian Stones once again, but Witseva stopped and stared at the sky.

The sky was clear to Lydia and Beekah, but Witseva was staring into the past. She saw the black dragon fly over the landscape and towards the mountain that Bleak Falls Barrow was located on. The smoke rising from the remains of Helgen, the sickening smell of charred skin being carried by the wind.

"Witseva!"

She could barely hear the yell.

"My Thane!"

Witseva was returning to the present. But one last roar without a source erupted through her ears.

"Witseva!"

Said Argonian immediately began to run back towards Riverwood. She couldn't stand the memories and the amount of lives lost. And the loss only served to remind her about her past life. The blood on her hands. The souls of those she killed that weren't Argonian that haunt her nowadays. She stopped only past the Guardian Stones, having collapsed into crying in shame.

The clanking of heavy armour reached Witseva, but she could barely hear it over her sorrow. She felt a plated hand on her left shoulder, a weight on her right side. Witseva didn't want to look at who it was, but she welcomed the thought of whoever it is. She opened her eyes, but all she could see was blurriness. But the blurriness had a brown shade to it.

It was only Beekah.

She saw a grey and black blur a bit further away. It was Lydia, keeping watch.

"All of that death." Witseva whispered.

"You never told us about how many died." Beekah stated.

"Too many." Witseva whispered back.

It was then that Beekah stood and roughly pulled Witseva up. She stared into Witseva's eyes. It made the Hist flare up in response to danger.

"You have to be stronger, Witseva. Beat the past. Don't allow it to beat you." Beekah said, staring deeper into Witseva's eyes. Like how a predator would do to prey.

It scared Witseva more than the memories.

Her eyes regained resolve, and began to march her way over towards Helgen. The other two followed her. The winding road obscured any threats, but it soon straightened out. In one hour, they made it to a familiar gate to Witseva. But things were different.

Two spikes were laid outside the gate, bloodied and slightly burned. But what was on the spikes was the most horrible. There were the severely charred bodies, the spike tips shoved through their torsos. Witseva immediately ran to the gate, which was locked by a measly lock and chain. She picked the lock and threw the gate open.

When she did, she drew her swords and ran to the centre of the courtyard. To Lydia, it seemed that Witseva was calm, but to Beekah, she knew on a deeper level that Witseva was seething pure rage. Fifteen bandits soon circled the three, all having different weapons that was ranging between axes to daggers to greatswords to bows.

Beekah yelled and charged into the fray, breaking through defences with a strong downwards swing of her battleaxe. Lydia kept her shield up and waited for the bandits to attack her. Witseva, when the battle started, seemingly disappeared. But the bandits that were in front of her had their throats slit, all of them.

Beekah heard a bandit begin to gurgle behind her. She kicked away the bandit in front of her and turned around, seeing a small blade sticking out of the Khajiit bandit's throat. It was pulled back and the bandit fell forwards onto the dirt. But the one who killed him didn't show themselves, just disappeared after doing so.

"Victory or Sovngarde!"

Lydia impaled her last bandit and Beekah hacked hers away. Both turned towards the shout, seeing a Nord in full steel, obviously the leader of this group, facing against Witseva. The leader wielded a war axe and a hide shield, while Witseva held her Ancient Nordic sword in her right and an iron dagger in her left. Witseva was parrying the war axe with ease, keeping calm all the while, although the bandit leader was getting more and more pissed off twofold by the second. He shuffled back quite a ways and turned tail, moving quickly in the heavy steel.

Witseva began to run after him, Lydia and Beekah following.

"Get them!" All three heard the leader yell.

About ten other bandits came round the corner, all brandishing their terribly terrible and rusty weapons. Witseva hacked through the bandits in a straight line, and kept running towards where the leader went. That left Lydia and Beekah to deal with the remainder.

The leader entered the keep and ran straight to the small rickety table that housed his greatest find. An enchanted katana, deep red lines crossing the blade and hilt. He picked it up and held it at the entrance, where two bandits had their backs up against the wood.

He heard someone bang against the wooden door, but the bandits held it closed. But the banging stopped, followed by a silence.

"FUS!" They heard from outside.

The door burst from its hinges and flung the bandits holding it back. The door landed on them in sharp splinters, one bandit dying back shrapnel to the throat and one had shrapnel pierce her stomach and the wound began to bleed heavily.

The leader tensed, holding the tip forwards. The Argonian from before walked through the doorway, the sun hiding the features. The leader knew that power. Jarl Ulfric used it from when the leader was in the Stormcloak Army.

The Argonian kept walking and stopped at the edge of the hall. Her eyes widened upon seeing the weapon that the bandit was holding.

The leader quickly tilted his head to the left then straight back up, smiling all the while. "Well, ain't this a surprise." He said.

He took a few steps forwards then began to run, emitting a war cry all the while. The Argonian just stood there, eyes still wide. When the leader was close, the Argonian kept standing still. When the leader swung the sword down and across, only then did the Argonian move. The blade was dangerously close to the Argonian when she dodged it.

When the blade was of no threat, the Argonian stabbed the Nord's side with her dagger. It found its way past his steel armour and sunk into his side. The puny dagger was pulled out, but the Nord swung the sword. He caught the Argonian in the right arm and the blade bit deep into her scales. However, some of the Argonian's life force floated out of the wound and towards the Nord's chest. He felt himself getting stronger and the pain from his side disappeared. He pulled the katana out, holding it down by his side.

The Argonian shuffled back, clutching her injured arm with blood flowing from between her fingers. She dropped her dagger, making it clang against the stone floor of Helgen's Keep.

The Nord cracked his vertebrae once more, a sick smile on his face. "I'll wear you tail as a belt, Argonian." He taunted, lifting the katana up once more.

Witseva was staring all manner of weapons at the Nord bandit in front of her.

'How DARE he use MY sword for HIS twisted means!' She thought.

She dropped her dagger and casted a healing spell over her wound. Although it left a noticeable scar, the wound was closed.

"I'll wear your tail as a belt, Argonian." She heard the leader taunt.

He raised her sword once more, ready to harm her further and drain her very life force away.

She looked down and smiled, amused at the situation. She looked back up, her vigour clearly seen through her eyes.

"Drop my katana now." She ordered, scowling.

The bandit laughed, pulling his head back and lowering his guard. He looked back, smiling. "You really think that, lizard? And yours?" He asked.

"That katana was made in Black Marsh, only for me. Enchanted by myself. Killed many more than you can dream of." Witseva explained. She raised her Ancient Nordic sword. "And you will not keep it!" She exclaimed.

She closed the distance between them quickly. She used her left hand to cover his right hand and struck the opening of the wrist with the sword's pommel. The leader dropped her sword, which she snatched up quickly into her left. She moved past, stabbing at the back of the knee with her Ancient Nordic sword. The leader did exactly as she wanted, kneeling down. Witseva spun and stabbed the katana through the leader's neck. She kicked his corpse off, pleased that one more bandit group was off the face of Nirn. She twisted her katana back and forth. She swore she heard the sword sing in greetings.

"And hello to you, Lifeleech." She whispered, smiling.

She sheathed the Ancient Nordic sword and walked over to the crate on the table. She reached in and picked out the scabbard of Lifeleech easily, placing her favoured sword inside. It makes a fitting replacement for the steel sword that broke during the fight with the bandits.

She walked out of the keep, wanting to forget the memories. She picked up the dagger that was on the floor on her way past it. When she got into the doorway, a female Bosmer bandit ran up to her. Immediately, Witseva stabbed forth with her dagger, catching her in the heart. Witseva pulled it out and allowed the bandit to fall.

The ex-Shadowscale looked towards the skies, seeing that it was becoming night and rapidly so.

Lydia and Beekah were seated against one of the remains of the stone structures, tired from the battle in heavy armour, yet sitting in the middle of a bunch of bodies. They saw Witseva walk out of the keep, the katana on her hip. Witseva made her way over to them, crossing her arms when she did so.

"It's becoming night. Lets keep going until later." She said.

"Why? We travel the same area in two days." Lydia responded.

"And if we don't make it to Ivarstead in two days? Better to travel now and sleep later than travel in morning tomorrow and sleep now." Witseva said.

She started walking west, but stopped at turned when the other two weren't following.

"Well, come on!" She yelled, before continuing her walk westward.

The other two groaned and stood until they begun to follow Witseva. Although they saw her at the remains of a carriage, grabbing a slip of somehow unburnt parchment out of a satchel.

She heard a snap.

Witseva quickly opened her eyes, the fire now a smouldering heap and the other two oblivious to the obvious threat in their presence.

Witseva squirmed her way out of the bedroll and stood, her eyes scanning the darkness.

She suddenly felt a hand wrap under her chin, pulling upwards, and a cold object press against her throat. A kukri, no less.

"Come with me, Witseva." She felt a reptilian voice whisper.

She knew that voice somewhere, but couldn't put it to a name. She had to follow the Argonian back, and follow the obvious unsaid command of keeping quiet. She was pushed up against a tree, and now able to see the red eyes of her opponent.

"Ushus. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Witseva said, now recognising the threat.

"Do you really think you can escape us? You knew that you and Teineeja chased someone from Black Marsh to High Rock only to kill them." Ushus reminded.

"I know that, yet I also know why you're chasing me. Betrayal, yet for our safety." Witseva said.

The red eyes glinted in surprise and anger. "For our safety? Are you insane?"

Witseva pushed the parchment up against the body of Ushus. However, another hand took the parchment and a Candlelight spell shone the area. It revealed the second Shadowscale, another male with sea blue scales and an Elven bow slung across his back.

Teineeja.

Teineeja closed the piece of parchment and tucked it away.

He turned to Ushus, the severely dark green Argonian. "Let her go." He ordered.

Ushus' head turned to meet Teineeja, both staring defiantly at the other.

"And let her kill us the first chance she has with Lifeleech? You are stupid to consider this, Teineeja." Ushus responded.

"I promise that you will go without death, Ushus. You have every word I said." Witseva whispered.

"I don't trust a traitor." The Argonian responded, pushed the kukri blade deeper into her neck.

But one end of the Elven bow was laid onto the wrist of the Shadowscale. Ushus looked at Teineeja.

The sea blue Argonian looked at Witseva. "There are others that have their bows trained on your Housecarl and sister, Witseva. Attempt to kill us, and they die. Allow us to walk free, and they live. It's your choice."

Witseva nodded her assent and Ushus let go and sheathed his kukri. Together, they ran into the darkness and many more light footsteps followed them.

She never got the parchment back.

The morning sun came just three hours ago, and they came to a bridge leading to a small town. A mountain grew on the outskirts of the town, but close enough to be considered part of it. They read the signpost, seeing the sign for Ivarstead pointing over the bridge.

The group of three walked just over the bridge when another thunder strike emitted out of nowhere.

"DOVAHKIIN!" The call rung out once more.

Witseva began to walk towards the mountain base, but was stopped by Beekah weighing her down with her gauntleted hand.

"We need to wait, Witseva." She said, standing firm against Witseva's incessant pushing.

"No more death of innocents should come, Beekah. By my hand or otherwise. I need to see them now!"

"The fulfilment can wait. Right now, we need to wait for our brother."

Witseva stopped pushing, shocked.

She turned, staring at Beekah. "Our brother?" She asked.

Beekah nodded, smiling. "And he will be on his way from Windhelm." She said.

She let go of Witseva's shoulder and walked to the inn. Recovering, Witseva jogged behind Beekah.

It was an invigorating few days and glad to be back in a reasonable society. Bandits do not make good company.


	11. Return of the Jarl of Windhelm

**I just thought 'hey, I got to make it up to you guys somehow.' And so, the next chapter, made before the last, is here. It is shorter, though and a lot more crap than the last.**

**Again, leave reviews if you are able. Again, a 1-10 would suffice.**

About one and a half weeks have passed since the incident at Candlehearth Hall. A messenger arrived two days ago, saying that Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was returning from Helgen. Of course, the news swept through Windhelm like a plague. The Nords celebrated while the Dark Elves and Argonians were in a rage. However, Haj-Jah couldn't care less, or more for that matter. He was on a mission.

Another girl has been murdered in Windhelm and the guards said that they were too busy looking for Imperial spies and being stretched thin with the Civil War. This time, Susanna The Wicked, the bartender to Candlehearth Hall, was the one killed just last night. Unfortunately, Haj has to work on his own. He has already talked to the witnesses that were crowding around Susanna's mangled corpse, but they didn't see anything. He remembered the second talk with Helgird quite clearly.

"Large diagonal cut from left shoulder." Helgird mumbled, but the sound was amplified in the Hall of the Dead.

"Helgird, have you found anything unusual?" Haj asked, slightly startling Helgird.

"Well..." Helgird said, "she's dead, but I don't think that's unusual."

Helgird laughed a little, but stopped when Haj didn't laugh.

"Sorry for that. Going off track." Helgird apologised.

"It's alright. So, the body..." Haj asked.

"The only thing that is unusual is the shape of the cuts. It looks like the tools that the ancient Nords used to prepare their dead for burial. I'm not sure who would have those tools." Helgird said.

Haj just stared at Helgird, on a train of thought that meant that she was the killer. Helgird must've sensed his accusations.

"O-other than me, of course." She added in.

"Ok. Thank you for your time." Haj said, beginning to walk out.

"Good. I have to keep preparing her for her burial." Helgird said, returning to her observations.

Haj-Jah had already followed the trial of blood to a lodge known as Hjerim. From what he could gather from Jorleif, the house once belonged to Friga Shatter-Shield, the very first victim of the Butcher. He had to ask her mother, Tova Shatter-Shield, for the key to the house. He was standing outside the Shatter-Shield's manor. He knew that someone should be awake at this hour, so he politely knocked on the door.

About ten seconds later, a lock was heard being undone. The door opened inwards, revealing a female Dark Elf.

"Good morning, my lord. What gives us the pleasure?" She asked, keeping the door open.

"I want to have a talk with Tova Shatter-Shield." Haj answered, keeping as respectful as possible.

"Oh, well. Come in then." The Dark Elf said, allowing Haj-Jah to enter.

"My thanks."

Haj carefully climbed the stairs, not wanting to break anything. When he reached the top, a young female Nord in expensive clothes begun to walk towards the stairs. She stopped Haj in his tracks.

"Are you here for work? If you are, see my father." She asked.

"No. I am, in fact, here to see Tova Shatter-Shield. On the accounts of Hjerim." Haj answered humbly, knowing how stuck up nobility can be if you address them incorrectly.

"Come this way, then." She said, waving Haj to follow her.

She lead him to an expanse, where a fireplace was situated. An old Nordic woman in equally as expensive clothing was sitting, staring into the fire.

"Mother." The woman in front of Haj said softly.

"Yes, Nilsine?" The woman asked, slightly turning her head away from the fire.

"There is someone here to talk to you. For... Friga." Nilsine answered.

Haj walked towards the spare seat, being respectful for the delicate state in which Tova is in.

"Tova Shatter-Shield. I'm Haj-Jah Cadorees. I'm currently investigating the latest kill of the Butcher." Haj introduced.

"Why did you need to see me for?"

"I need to get into Hjerim."

"Why?"

"Blood splatters were found leading into your daughter's house."

Tova remained silent, slightly clenching her fists on her laps.

"I know that this is hard for you to talk about. I am trying to catch the killer. But I need your cooperation. And I promise to return the key to you when I am finished." Haj said, saying it softly to not cause offence.

Tova sighed, contemplating. She dug into one of her pockets and pulled out a key. It was kept in good condition and obviously never saw much use. Tova took one of Haj's hands, laid the key inside the palm and closed the fingers to surround the key. She was looking into Haj's eyes with a stronger determination.

"Please, allow the soul of my daughter some closure by finding her killer and bringing them to justice. Please." Tova pleaded.

"I will and I promise." Haj said, standing up.

He made it to the doorway before turning back around.

"Tova Shatter-Shield, thank you." Haj said.

Haj walked out of the house and onto the streets. He kept to the Stone Quarter, where it was most visibly pleasing for now. Banners of the Bear of Eastmarch were hung up high and the streets were now regularly swept for the arrival of the Jarl. He was deep in thought, thinking about what he would do if he found the Butcher. Will he kill him outright? Or will he try to turn him in to the guards? He must've been in thought for longer than he should've, because now he has wandered towards the docks gates.

'I promised to see them. Maybe I will now.' Haj thought.

He approached the gates, where the guards kindly opened it for him. He begun to descend down the steps, and heard the gates slam shut behind him. He paid no mind to it, as gates slam shut all the time, Haj just hoped that it wouldn't interfere with his independent investigation. The stone steps that were leading down to the docks were visibly showing signs of wear and tear. Haj made it to the bottom, where the surprisingly few ships were docked. He saw Neetrenaza sharpening a blade on a grindstone, Scouts-Many-Marshes making runs to and from the ships unloading cargo but he couldn't find Shahvee. He finally spotted her, slaving away at almost completely frozen pelts. He walked through the docks, receiving a hiss from Neetrenaza on the way past.

Haj-Jah kept walking towards Shahvee. That's when he noticed a bandage wrapped around her left palm, a small bloody patch around the centre. Haj also noticed that Shahvee looked a bit saddened about something. He made his footfalls just a little bit louder, so her attention could be caught. She stopped for a second to look at whoever was coming. Upon seeing Haj coming, she looked back towards the pelt and instantly put on a happier face. But she didn't know that Haj saw her sad expression. Haj walked past the tanning rack and leant against the stone. He pulled the hood down, revealing more of his features to Shahvee, including the scars.

"Hello Haj-Jah. Finally thought to visit us?" Shahvee asked, still cutting at the pelt.

"Yes, Shahvee. Sorry about that. I have been busy with training and something else." Haj answered.

"Oh, and what is that, I wonder?"

"The Butcher."

Shahvee stopped slicing the pelt for a few seconds, contemplating. She knew of the Butcher, but she had no reason to be afraid. Whoever the Butcher is, they only hunt for Nord females only.

"I also saw that you are saddened by something. What is it?" Haj asked.

"My amulet of Zenithar. My most prized possession." Shahvee said, becoming more morose.

"What happened to it?"

"Thieves came and stole it. I believe they went to Lost Knife Cave."

"Ok."

Shahvee hissed in pain again, clutching her left hand which started to bleed profusely. Haj pulled off of the wall and knelt down to Shahvee's height.

"How did this happen?"

"The knife slipped."

Haj nodded slightly. He began to remove the bandage, but kept the palm up. He used his magic once again to heal it. But it was a large cut and drained Haj of his magicka stores quite quickly. He did manage to heal it, but left a sizeable scar across the palm.

"If you keep doing that, we have to repay you somehow." Shahvee said, remembering what happened one week and a half ago.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't fully heal it, Shahvee. But the bleeding will stop. And don't cut yourself again, or the debt may get bigger." Haj said jokingly.

Shahvee laughed. "Ok, Haj. I will keep a good grip on the blade." Shahvee said, picking up the fallen knife and continued to work at the pelt.

Haj walked away with a smile on his face. He walked past Neetrenaza once again. He hissed, as per usual, but Haj hissed back. Haj climbed up the steps leading up to the gate. The guards at the gate looked down and, upon seeing the scars that only Haj had, opened the gates. The little girl was there, holding the basket of flowers that she would sell frequently. Haj-Jah wished he knew why she did that, if her parents worked. But, he kept walking past her and up the steps. The city was like a warren, but Haj found himself wandering up to Hjerim.

The blood stain in front of the door was dry, but still visible. Haj put the key given to him into the lock and twisted it. The deadbolt moved and unlocked, allowing Haj to enter the lodge. To say it was dark was an understatement. Dust was thick in the air, making Haj cough by the amount. Every corner of the house was covered in thick cobwebs, what was left of the furniture was rotten from termites and covered in layers of dust. A pile of pots in an adjacent room were full of skeever droppings. Haj lit the inside of the pots on fire to burn the contents. He spotted a chest on the far wall. He walked over to it and opened it up to see the contents. A whole bunch of papers were inside, all reading the same thing.

Beware The Butcher.

Taking them all, he carried on. He also took the journal in the chest as well. The stuff on the other side of the lodge looked in good condition, but the house hasn't been lived in for months. The cabinet on Haj's left was fine but the contents were ruined, most likely from skeevers. The small set of ledges were filled with the "Beware The Butcher" posters but a discovery under the pile made an amulet become found. Eight-sided and jade. A worn depiction of a skull's face was seen in the middle of the amulet. Haj pocketed it, but felt uneasy having it there for some reason. He saw the second cabinet and, when he tried to move it, it stayed where it was.

'It's nailed to the wall.' Haj thought.

He opened the doors. There was nothing inside, not even a speck of dust. He pushed against the back wall of the cabinet. It moved backwards a bit and made a soft click. Haj pushed it to the left, revealing the worst room to him. A huge stone altar was the main feature. Bones, some white while others were brown, were either strewn across the wooden floor or placed neatly on the altar. Blood was splattered on the altar and on the floor. A set of bound books were seen on a bookshelf, all displaying a skull on the front cover. One caught Haj's eye, one that was similar to the journal from the chest. He put that in the small case he kept for books along with the other journal. With that, he left the house and walked towards the Palace of the Kings. He went inside and searched for Jorleif, which wasn't difficult.

"Hey, Jorleif. Do you know anything about these?" Haj asked, showing the steward one of the "Beware the Butcher" posters.

"Ugh. Have you been talking to Viola Giordano?" Jorleif asked. Haj shook his head side to side.

"She posts those all throughout the city. But someone keeps taking them down. Go and talk to her if you want an earful."

"And do you know what this amulet is?" Haj asked, taking the strange amulet out and holding it up.

Jorleif squinted, looking at it carefully. He shook his head. "Don't know. Talk to Calixto, he may give you a bit of gold for it."

"Ok." Haj said, putting the amulet into his pocket. "Thank you, Jorleif."

He walked out of the Palace and walked through the streets to Calixto's House of Curiosities. He entered the house and Calixto greeted him kindly, like every shopkeeper would.

'Or should.' Haj thought.

He made his way over to Calixto. The Imperial was sitting down.

"What can I do for you?" Calixto asked.

"I would like you to identify something for me." Haj answered, placing the amulet on the desk in front of Calixto.

"Oh, that. That is the Wheelstone. It is usually held by the court mage of Windhelm. I would pay you..." Calixto said, looking at the amulet for its worth. "500 gold for it."

Haj-Jah was not convinced. He knew the history and the look of the Wheelstone. Even Wuunferth has it but tucked away in a drawer under lock and key. But, for all purposes to satisfy Calixto's collection, Haj played along.

"Alright, Calixto. You got yourself a deal." Haj said, shaking hands with the Imperial.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Calixto said, taking the amulet and replacing it with a pouch of the five hundred gold that Calixto promised.

Haj took the pouch and, bowing slightly, walked out of the house. He looked at the pouch again and tied it to his waist. He was about to walk back to the Palace when a war horn sounded. More war horns followed the initial one, signalling that some one important has come to the city. Everyone who was everyone started to run towards the gates, so Haj followed them. Luckily, he was able to make his way to the front of the crowd that gathered.

The gates were opening, and rather quickly. A person on horseback came through, covered with furs and followed by soldiers garbed in blue. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak has returned to Windhelm, his loyal Stormcloak soldiers following him from the harsh journey from Helgen to Windhelm. When Ulfric rode through the gates, all of the inhabitants cheered for him and the return of loved ones.

Haj-Jah remained silent, since the Nords and Imperials were cheering and the Dark Elves were cursing and yelling obscenities like the ever classic "n-wah" and "swit" to Ulfric. Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder, one that might've echoed across all of Tamriel.

"DO-VAH-KIIN!"

'So similar to what happened a few days ago.' Haj thought. The exact same yell and clap was heard echoing throughout the sky the day before at some ungodly hour in the morning.

All of the Nords stopped celebrating. Even the group of returning soldiers stopped and looked to the southern sky. Haj walked away from the gates and hurried to the Palace, where it would take some time for Ulfric to get to.

When he did reach the inside, he immediately took off his hood and dashed towards the side room where Wuunferth's quarters were located. He ran in and closed the door sharply.

"Haj, what is the meaning of this?" Wuunferth asked.

"Master Wuunferth, you've taught me a few things from Restoration, Illusion and Alteration schools. But, with me trying to find the Butcher, I need some more training in Destruction and Conjuration." Haj requested.

Wuunferth sighed. He dug through the bookshelves and pulled out one book. While it bore the sign of Oblivion on the cover, all mages knew that it was the sign for the school of Conjuration. Wuunferth handed it to the young Argonian.

"Bound Sword. You may need some training in the sword to use it effectively." Wuunferth said.

"Thank you, master Wuunferth." Haj said, bowing slightly and leaving the room.

However, when he opened the door, the sight of Jarl Ulfric met the two mages. Shocked for a few seconds, they bowed in response to his presence.

"No need for that, you two. Let's make this casual." Ulfric said.

Haj moved out of the way to allow the Jarl to walk through. He closed the door when Ulfric sat down in one of the chairs. Wuunferth sat on the bed while Haj kept standing.

"Now, Haj-Jah. I've heard that you gave Galmar quite the beating." Ulfric said.

"Ummmmmm..." Haj mumbled, scratching the tough scales on the nape of the neck.

Ulfric laughed heartily while Wuunferth looked on in shock. "Galmar and I are impressed. Even though in self-defence for your own people but Galmar has recommended you for the Stormcloak army."

Haj's and Wuunferth's eyes widened even more.

"I..I'm sorry, Jarl Ulfric but... I can't. I promised my parents and sister that I wouldn't go into war." Haj said.

"Which one?" Ulfric asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"My only one, Beekah." Haj replied.

The door opened again, this time a courier was behind it, followed by Galmar Stone-Fist.

"A letter for you, sir." The courier said, holding a letter out to Haj-Jah.

Haj pulled out a few gold coins and swapped the letter for the gold. "For services rendered." Haj said while making the swap.

The door closed, hearing the muffled voice of Galmar behind it. Haj looked at the letter, fingering the edge slightly. Silence was heard in the room, becoming deafening. Haj-Jah opened the letter and read the contents. His reptilian lips mouthed the words written on the page. His eyes went through many stages, shock, anger and some degree of happiness.

"I need to leave for Ivarstead in a weeks time. Beekah and the sister I never knew would come here to Windhelm before us three leave."

"But, Haj, weren't you looking for the Butcher? You've asked for the Conjuration school of magic to be taught, and now you would just leave us?" Wuunferth asked.

"You're searching for the Butcher, Haj-Jah?" Ulfric asked.

Haj, not wanting to speak anymore, nodded.

"I'll make the guards more vigilant for the Butcher, don't you worry." Ulfric said, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

"I have a week! I may catch him!" Haj reassured, yelling through the door.

"Ok. Let's hope that no more women are killed now." Wuunferth mumbled.

Giving Wuunferth some space to think, Haj left the room and the Palace as a whole. He was walking through the streets when he saw a lady posting a "Beware the Butcher" poster on a wall. Haj walked up to her, careful to not startle her.

"Viola Giordano." Haj said quietly. It successfully caught her attention. "I suppose you could help me look for the Butcher?"

Viola sighed heavily. "Yes, I can." She answered.

Haj pulled the two diaries out of the book pouch and handed them to Viola, who looked at him quizzically.

"I found these two diaries in Hjerim, both written from the Butcher. There's necromancy happening in that lodge." Haj explained.

Viola was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. "Thank you. Give me a few days and I'll tell you what I've found."

She walked away, leaving Haj-Jah out in the cold. He turned and walked out to the docks. The scenery hasn't changed much, a few extra boxes were set up and a few more boats were docked. Scouts-Many-Marshes and Neetrenaza were ferrying back and forth to the boats, unpacking them of their cargo. Deciding that watching them work wasn't helping, Haj-Jah walked down and assisted Scouts in lifting up a particularly heavy box of cargo.

"My thanks, Marsh-Friend." Scouts said, lifting up the box.

"Least I can do." Haj replied, lifting up his end of the box at the same time as Scouts-Many-Marshes.

They carefully manoeuvred the box off of the ship and onto the stones of the docks. From there, they carried it back to the piles of boxes, where employees from the currently failing East Empire Company were taking stock. Scouts-Many-Marshes and Haj-Jah, when they let go, were panting from the exhaustion. Scouts looked at the sun's position.

"Time for rest. Once again, thank you." Scouts said, standing back up to straight.

"That is the worst labour I had to do in my life." Haj said.

"I'm sure you have to leave for the Palace now. The guards lock the gates at a certain time."

"Alright. Goodbye then."


	12. The Lost Lilmothiit

**Pietersielie: Thanks, mate. I think the readers should follow your example, but they don't have to. **

**Now, before I begin the chapter, some of you who have NO IDEA of what a Lilmothiit is, it will be explained right now. There is an excerpt in the Pocket Guide to the Empire Third Edition: Black Marsh which tells of an ancient and long-unseen race of animal/humans known as Lilmothiit. They are vulpine (fox-like) in nature, and once called Black Marsh home along with tribes of Men, Mer and the Argonians. However, the Knahaten Flu in the 2nd Era 560 seemingly killed everything within Black Marsh that isn't reptilian in nature.**

**But the fate of the Lilmothiit remains a mystery, whether some fled Black Marsh to any other province, where they may be surviving, or they were wiped out with the other tribes from the Knahaten Flu. I'm going with both, where some fled to other provinces while the majority of the population died from the Knahaten Flu. I am going to use a mix of Argonian and Khajiit names for this race.**

**Sorry about the long as explanation. Onwards!**

Ji'Chulus was walking through his own small tribe. Since there was only about fifty in this tribe, everyone basically knew each other. No one in this tribe owned a lot of stuff, only a few scraps of food and cloth for the barest of clothing, but that was it. All males wore a loincloth and shoes, while women received more cloth for the tribe's sense of decency. Each Lilmothiit had differing fur colours, some dark, some brighter, and some just plain weird. Ji'Chulus fitted in the third category, having dark red fur with white lines as accents, differing from his father and mother tremendously.

The small tepees that they called homes weren't much either, meant to be packed quickly and carried for long distances. Right now, Ji'Chulus was on his way to the shaman's hut, which was slightly bigger than most tepees but not by much. When he crouched underneath the flaps, the searing heat from the sun wore off of the fur, giving the Lilmothiit some degree of relief. The tribe's shaman was busy working at the back, leaning over a small bench of sorts with varying alchemical ingredients and equipment. By the looks of it, the shaman was too busy working that she never noticed Ji'Chulus coming in.

Ji'Chulus coughed softly, successfully gaining the shaman's attention. She was old, but not frail. The fur along the face has darkened slightly and her face had some small wrinkles, but she was still as athletic as Ji'Chulus himself, being a hunter and the shaman's apprentice.

"Ji'Chulus. I see you've come." The shaman said.

"Yes, shaman." Ji'Chulus said, his voice deep.

"I have need of you for something. You know of my occasional visions, yes?" The shaman asked, Ji'Chulus only nodded in response. "I need you to go north, past Cyrodiil and into the province of Skyrim. You're contributions to the tribe haven't been unnoticed, but I've seen you long for leaving the tribe for something else."

"How did you-?" Ji'Chulus asked.

"Everyone knows. You stare out into the sands. How you always ask to go to the cities of Elsweyr. But none have the destiny you seek. Skyrim does, and that's where you need to go." The shaman answered.

"But, what about the tribe? I need to contribute more." Ji'Chulus argued.

"You've done more than ever hoped. You go out of your way to help us all, be it during the hunts, helping me with the stories and legends, or assisting in the packing of our homes." The shaman answered calmly.

She walked over to a small chest and pulled out a long piece of fabric. She walked back over to the Lilmothiit standing there away from the entrance. She gave it to him, where he unravelled it. It was long and black, with a useless circular extension where the head would rest. He looked at the shaman with questioning eyes.

"It's called a robe. You need to hide your identity from the rest of the world. The city-gatherers would give you the needed currency to give you the needed transport for Skyrim. Go now, young one. Go fulfil you're destiny." The shaman explained.

Ji'Chulus bowed in thanks, looking at the ground. The shaman did the same gesture. Ji'Chulus put the cloak on and pulled the hood up, noticing that the hood covered his muzzle quite well. He turned around and walked out of the tepee. Where the sun would be barely bearable before, it was better with this cloak on.

"Ji'Chulus!"

"M'Onasha?"

A small streak of brown and silver suddenly crashed into Ji'Chulus' legs. A weight kept his right leg down onto the sands. It was only his little sister, only 11 years his younger. Even at the age of 5, she was a contributing member already, helping those who are hurt in some way, be it physical or emotional, she keeps them in check with smiles and laughter.

"Where are you going?" M'Onasha asked, her chestnut eyes gleaming with pure innocence.

Ji'Chulus kneeled down to M'Onasha's level. He sighed, he hated lying to anyone. His sister, even at such a young age, can tell if he was telling the truth or not.

"I'm leaving, M'Onasha. I'm sorry." J'Chulus said, his ears drooping in grief.

Her eyes began to water, the irises glistening. "Where, exactly?"

"Out of Elsweyr. To a place called Skyrim."

M'Onasha ran forwards, clutching Ji'Chulus in a deep hug around the neck. Her tears were flowing onto the neck fabric, her shoulders were wracking in sadness. It tugged at Ji'Chulus' heart strings, so he wrapped his arms around the young Lilmothiit. M'Onasha pulled away and looked into Ji'Chulus' eyes, hers wet from tears.

"Promise me you will come back." M'Onasha pleaded.

Ji'Chulus laughed a bit at M'Onasha's innocent plea. "I promise on the Sun, Moons, Trees and the Ground themselves."

That seemed to lift M'Onasha's spirit, as she stopped crying and her muzzle curved upwards in a smile. Seeing the unbridled happiness of his sister, Ji'Chulus gave her one last embrace. When both let go, M'Onasha stood on the ever changing sands and Ji'Chulus stood up straight. He knew where the city-goers gather, as they would be expecting him. M'Onasha skipped off somewhere and Ji'Chulus walked off to the gathering site.

When the young vulpine arrived, the shaman and similarly dressed Lilmothiit to him were gathered. You could tell which one Ji'Chulus was just by looking at the height differences. All were taller than him. The shaman stepped forwards.

"I never told you where to go, Ji'Chulus. You need to go to the small town of Ivarstead. The city-gatherers would lead you to the border of Elsweyr then you need to find your own way to Skyrim." The shaman said, revealing another crucial piece of information.

"Yes, shaman." Ji'Chulus said.

"Your destiny awaits." The shaman said, holding her hand out to the northern sands, towards the shadow of spires of one of a Khajiit city.

One month later:

Ji'Chulus was now lost. Not just went the wrong way lost, but having absolutely no idea where he is going lost. He had no idea where he was since it was midday and the sun was in the middle of the sky. He saw another traveller. From his readings from the shaman's books, it was a High Elf. A male, by the shape of the armour. But it wasn't Elven, since he's seen these "Thalmor" agents in Elven armour in one of the major Cyrodiilic cities. Instead, he was in a more special looking armour, gold glistened on the edges of the ebony armour, jewels decorating it sporadically, but the armour was worn and torn from a long time of use.

"Excuse me. Ummm, can you give me a few directions?" Ji'Chulus asked the High Elf in rough Cyrodiilic.

"Sure. Where do you need to go?" The High Elf responded, sounding like the Imperials of the land.

Ji'Chulus pointed at the map of where he needed to go. "Bruma." He answered.

The High Elf scratched his chin, the helmet only allowing a small space. His brow was furrowed in deep thought. He seemed to make a decision, as he pulled his hand away from his chin.

"I'll go there with you. Right now, Cyrodiil's roads are not the safest in Tamriel." The High Elf responded.

"Why? I've read that Cyrodiil is the safest." Ji'Chulus asked.

"That was before the White-Gold Concordant. After that damned treaty was signed, anti-Thalmor bandits started to operate, attacking any Thalmor High Elf or agent out there. Even brazenly attacking them in the streets." The High Elf explained.

"Over what?"

"Worship of Talos."

"Shouldn't people be allowed to worship what they want to?"

"The Thalmor believe that a man cannot ascend to godhood. That's why they banned Talos worship. Come on, we need to begin walking over to Bruma right now before sundown." The High Elf said, motioning his head to the road behind him.

Ji'Chulus began to walk slightly behind him, his hood still obscuring his features from everyone. He saw the sword that hung by the High Elf's left hip. It was a very elaborate sword, a red jewel found in the middle and was glowing a slight red. The armour was dirty, obviously the Elf has been on the road for a long time. And is near the state of disrepair, as the leather strapping was on the edge of snapping and the gauntlets and chest plate were severely dented. He looks tired, definitely hasn't rested well. A clanking of armour was heard from both sides. The High Elf looked at both sides and sighed, feeling defeated.

Ji'Chulus followed his head movements and a total of six High Elves were running towards them. Five were in the Elven armour and one was in a black hooded robe with gold threading. They all were charging to the High Elf beside him, but one saw him and changed his focus towards him. The High Elf beside him drew the sword and readied a kind of spell in his left hand. He casted on a space in front of him, where a portal appeared above the spot and a Dremora Lord fell out of it.

A Thalmor soldier fell upon the Lilmothiit. Ji'Chulus weaved to the left, allowing the sword to skim through the air harmlessly. He drew out his hunting dagger and held in loosely. The soldier recovered and a stare down commenced. A chunk was heard when the Thalmor soldier charged forwards and stumbled. The soldier swung again on Ji'Chulus, cleaving the sword in a dangerous downwards arc. Ji'Chulus stepped right and covered the sword with his dagger, making sure that it wouldn't swing back around and cause him harm. He sent his left fist into the chin of the Elf. A sick crack was heard, the jaw bone splitting in two and knocking out the Thalmor soldier. He saw a crossbow bolt sticking in a space between the greaves and boots, the back of the knee.

Screams of pain were heard behind him. Four Elf soldiers were lying down, their armour split, their blood soaking the ground and their features burned beyond recognition. Four small streaks of purple made their ways up the blade and into the jewel near the guard. The robed Thalmor finished off the Dremora and shifted his attention to the conjurer. Two waves of electricity flowed between the combatants. Streaks of lightning were clashing, causing a light show and sparks to fly, the grass catching alight. But the robed Thalmor was already weakened from the fight with the Dremora, so the lightning from his hands were cut abruptly. The lightning from the friendly High Elf was unimpeded and struck the Thalmor mage with full force. The lightning caused a series of convulsions to pass through the Thalmor. The lightning stopped, so the mage fell to the ground on one knee. The friendly High Elf rushed forwards and rammed the sword tip through the heart of the mage.

The mage stopped breathing, unable to comprehend that he was dying. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but a small rivulet of blood came out, along with a small wisp of purple smoke that snaked through into the jewel. The High Elf raised his foot up onto the mage's chest and pulled the sword out along with pushing down onto the chest with the foot. The corpse was now burning, probably from an enchantment on the weapon. Ji'Chulus was shocked, as he saw three Nords die fighting a single Thalmor soldier yet one High Elf killed five Thalmor agents. He looked over to Ji'Chulus and, seeing the unconscious soldier, walked over to and past Ji'Chulus and sunk the tip into the chest of the Thalmor agent. Luckily, he didn't make a sound and died not knowing the pain of death. The purple streak, once again, flowed up the blade and into the jewel.

"Who are you?" Ji'Chulus asked the High Elf, who pulled the blade free of the corpse.

"Undian Loreius. Known best as the Hero of Kvatch. These were Thalmor assassins meant to kill me to silence me from spreading the word of heresy against their accursed religion. I lead the anti-Thalmor bandits." The High Elf answered, walking over to the flaming grass and using some Frost spell to dispel the flames.

"The tall one better have a good reason." A female voice said, coming out of the wilderness. It sounded like a Khajiit.

Both looked towards the woman. It was a Dark Elf, a claymore and a spear were slung across her back and two unusual pouches were hanging on her belt. In her hands was a crossbow, which she reloaded with a fresh bolt on the base of her spine. Her armour was made of something that looks like bone, a helmet that looked like a face was made of the same material. On one of her fingers on her left hand was a ring, glowing a variety of colours. Undian seemed to know her, as he nodded slightly in her direction.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't ask what your name is." Undian said.

"Ji'Chulus." Said Lilmothiit answered.

"Ok. Ji'Chulus, meet Vivdena Kharbussi. Known better as the Nerevarine of legend." Undian introduced. The Dark Elf bowed when he said her name.

"This one returned from an expedition to Akavir fifty years ago. This one feels pleasured to meet you, Ji'Chulus." Vivdena responded.

"Now, why exactly did you need to get to Bruma, Ji'Chulus?" Undian asked.

Ji'Chulus began to feel uncomfortable. He was mainly a solitary person. Would hunt alone if given the chance. Or, if he needed any conversation, he only talked to one other Lilmothiit in his tribe. Any number higher than one always seemed to make him nervous.

"I need to get to Skyrim. To Ivarstead, specifically." He answered, using all of his willpower to not stammer.

"This one knows where that town is. Haven't been there in 150 years, but this one still knows where to go. To Brumaaaaaa!" Vivdena exclaimed, going very high pitched at the end. Ji'Chulus' ears retracted back to block out the annoying sound. Undian just laughed a bit, motioning with his head for Ji'Chulus to follow.

They were about ten kilometres away from Bruma. The journey took about 7 hours of non-stop walking. The three travellers set up camp on the plains. A small fire was made, lit by Ji'Chulus' knowledge on making fires for the tribe. He kept his head lowered, so that the hood was lit and not his face. Both of the Elves were out of their armour, revealing more interesting features. Undian had a scar running over his left ear and held nine amulets around his neck. A small piece of ink was seen just at the base of the neck. Vivdena, in traditional Khajiit clothing of superb quality, oddly held a scar around the trachea, but when Ji'Chulus asked, Vivdena replied with "this one's birth mark." Also, he saw that there was a crescent moon and a star on the outer edge of the ring she wore.

Vivdena came back with three medium-sized rabbits. Ji'Chulus' stomach growled at the prospect of food. And, by the sound of it, Undian's stomach growled as well. Vivdena laughed slightly, setting the three rabbits down. She picked up a long and sturdy stick and poked one rabbit all of the way through. Obviously, she already did the necessary steps beforehand.

"Say, Ji'Chulus. Why haven't you shown us your face yet?" Vivdena asked, staring into the fire. She poked a second rabbit through with the same stick.

"Shaman's words." Ji'Chulus whispered, but amplified by an unnatural silence.

"You can trust us, Ji'Chulus. We're technically enemies of the Empire. If you're one too, then there's no need to be afraid." Undian said. Vivdena poked the last rabbit through and began roasting them over the fire.

"I'm not sure why I am doing this but..." Ji'Chulus said, pulling his hands out from the sleeves of the hood, showing off the red and white fur to the two elves. He didn't stop there though. He raised the forearms up towards the rim of the hood and pushed the fabric back, revealing his head.

The two elves stare silently, but weren't shocked. They looked like they were trying to determine what he could be similar in looks to.

"Why aren't you shocked to see me?" Ji'Chulus asked.

"These ones have seen things that no one should've. Done things that made these ones legends. Seen things that shocked us so much that anything else doesn't shock these ones anymore. The deities that oversee Mundus have immortalised Undian, but this one was infected with Corprus, allowing us to see how bad the world has changed and will change." Vivdena said, looking into the fire and twisting the rabbits. "This one killed the Tribunal, in response of who this one is a reincarnation of. But this one also laid many to rest from war."

"I stared down the depths of Madness. Faced the Daedric Prince of Order and lived. Saw Mehrunes Dagon when he strode through the Imperial City. Faced Umaril the Unfeathered, as like Pelinal Whitestrake once did, and killed him permanently by using a blessing from Talos himself." Undian explained.

"Neither of you had most of your people die from a disease. Because that's what happened to the Lilmothiit with the Knahaten Flu." Ji'Chulus said, getting slightly angry.

"The Dark Elves were once Chimer. We were bright skinned, like the Altmer. But Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn, cursed the Chimer to have skin like ash and eyes like fire over the betrayal to the greatest warlord of Chimer history. From one of the most majestic to one of the most detested in a blink of this one's eye." Vivdena retorted.

There was a small pause of silence between the three. Ji'Chulus let his anger fall and silently cursed himself for the emotional slip. Vivdena finished roasting the catches and broke the stick into three, each third holding a hare. Vivdena reached inside one of the pouches on her belt and took a pinch of what Ji'Chulus recognised as Moon Sugar onto hers. The three ate in relative silence. He was surprised by seeing Vivdena receive no ill effects from the Moon Sugar.

"Anyways, I think that we shouldn't go into Bruma directly. Just in case there are Thalmor agents in there." Undian proposed when he finished and throwing his stick into the fire after taking the rabbit bones off, receiving a nod from Vivdena.

"This one speaks with reason. Let's get some rest, it will be a big day tomorrow." Vivdena agreed, doing the same thing with her stick and bones.

Undian and Vivdena unrolled their bedrolls, slipped inside them and fell to sleep. Ji'Chulus, on the other hand, kept sitting upright and threw his stick into the fire. He gathered the bones and threw them into the forest. He then laid down on the flat ground and went to sleep that way, not forgetting to pull the hood back up to obscure his face. He went through the possible ways that the day could've gone, but at least the Sun and Moons chose the fate that he is on now. With his small contemplation over, he shut his eyes and began to drift off to sleep.

**I don't want someone's brains to end up splattered all over a room from info overload. And it looks like the two from my other fanfictions have come into this one. Time to get to work completing those story arcs as well.**


	13. Getting the Butcher

**Pietersielie: I just aim to try. Most people must be like me and not soak in every detail. I read about it on the Elder Scrolls Wiki, and thought 'I just have to include them.' If Ji'Chulus becomes a favourite, then I must've made him interesting.**

It's been three days since Haj-Jah gave Viola the diaries. Right now, the Butcher hasn't struck again. Haj-Jah has been busy trying to use more taxing Conjuration and Destruction spells, but none of them seem to leave him satisfied. Be it conjuring a spectral sword from Oblivion or shoot a ball of fire to a target.

Right now, Haj-Jah was sitting on a bench close to the Grey Quarter of Windhelm, reading another spell tome. Lightning Bolt, a Destruction spell. A shadow blocked the sun, not allowing Haj-Jah to read the words written. He looked at who was creating the shadow, and saw Viola standing there. She was holding the books in her hands, but gripped the spines and covers tightly.

"Viola, have a seat." Haj-Jah proposed, moving over to give Viola some space.

"Thank you." Viola responded, being careful to not harm his tail in the process.

Haj-Jah closed the spell tome and put it in the book pouch, being careful to not rip the cover or pages. When he closed the pouch, he looked back at Viola. "What did you manage to find?" He asked.

Viola opened the book, where her observations were scribbled down along the edges of the pages. "I believe that Wuunferth is experimenting in necromancy." Viola explained.

Haj-Jah's eyes widened in shock. Wuunferth, a murderer and necromancer? Couldn't be possible. Well, mages that specialise in Conjuration can reanimate corpses to fight for them, but it was only temporary. Necromancers can reanimate corpses for extended periods, allowing them to fight until they are slain once again.

The Argonian was shaking his head, not believing it. "Are you sure about this?" He asked.

Viola nodded in affirmation. "Also his next victim would be a female Argonian. But, there aren't any in the city."

"Not in the city, but one lives outside the walls. The Nords don't care for anyone that's not a Nord, so they wouldn't notice it." Haj-Jah explained.

"Why would he need an Argonian? Your anatomy is completely different to ours." Viola asked.

"Maybe the bones that the Butcher needs is the right size. Otherwise the necromancy might not work." Haj explained.

Viola gave the books to Haj-Jah. "You must bring Wuunferth to justice. Or the murders will continue."

"I don't believe Wuunferth is behind this. I will ask him first, then make my judgement. Thank you for your time, Viola." Haj-Jah replied, walking away with the diaries in hand.

He walked up the steep incline that lead to and from the Grey Quarter and the Stone Quarter. Haj-Jah knew that the runoff from the Stone Quarter goes to the Grey Quarter, and that decreases the living quality of the area in some regards. He reached the top and diverted towards the Palace. He went inside and went straight towards Wuunferth's chambers. He casted Candlelight while in the halls, allowing him to see clearer in the darker halls. He knocked on Wuunferth's door, allowing the old wizard to open it and allow him in.

Haj walked in casually. "So, master, I've heard you dabble in necromancy." Haj said.

"What?! I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing. They haven't allowed necromancy for hundreds of years." Wuunferth responded, much to Haj-Jah's shock.

"B-But I found your diaries and amulet in Hjerim." Haj responded.

"My what now? I never kept a journal, Haj-Jah, I assure you. But, what did this amulet look like?" Wuunferth asked.

"Ummm. Eight-sided. Jade, ringed with ebony. A worn carving on the face." Haj explained.

"I see. I going to believe that the carving once depicted a skull." Wuunferth assumed, making Haj nod in response. "I know that well, or I believe I do. That is the Necromancer's Amulet, of legend."

Haj kept a straight face, but his mind was in turmoil. He sold a dangerous magical artefact to Calixto, and thereby satisfied his own greed. He felt sick, but he was keeping it in check in Wuunferth's presence.

"Well, Haj, you were at least half right. There is necromancy at the heart of this." Wuunferth praised, making Haj-Jah feel a small piece of pride for himself. "And now that we know that they are tied into some kind of necromantic ritual, I may be able to determine the time of the next murder."

Haj-Jah handed the diaries over to Wuunferth, who began to note down the dates.

"The next victim is the young Argonian lady that lives down on the docks." Haj reported.

"Must be waiting for when they are allowed into the city for food and supplies. But that's twice a month, and the last one is..." Wuunferth began, coming to a realisation, "tonight."

"Tonight?" Haj asked, not believing it.

Wuunferth nodded, confirming Haj's thoughts.

"I still don't believe I am ready. It's been three days and I still have that promise to fulfil." Haj said, doubting himself.

"What promise?" Wuunferth asked.

"Tell you later, but right now, we need to inform the gua-"

"The guard don't care for any who are not Nords. You said and know so. Even If the Butcher killed the Argonian in a public display, the guards will not react. If the victim was a Nord, though, they will react." Wuunferth explained.

Haj-Jah sighed, clutching at the hood's cloth. He felt the fabric ever so slightly ripping beneath his claws. "Looks like I'll have to handle this be myself, then."

"Not by yourself, Haj."

Haj-Jah turned around, seeing a face that he hasn't seen for almost two weeks. Calder was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. A war axe hung by his belt, accompanied by a shield being held in his left hand.

"Well, looks like one youngster has learnt respect. Patrol the Stone Quarter tonight. That's almost certain where the killer will strike next." Wuunferth said.

Haj and Calder nodded in affirmation, both leaving Wuunferth to his research. When the door closed behind him, Haj collapsed onto the ground and vomited onto the stones. The bile burnt his throat and left a very horrible taste in his mouth. His stomach was restless, probably from the news. Calder grabbed an arm roughly and harshly pulled Haj-Jah back onto his feet.

"I can't do this." Haj mumbled repeatedly, under his breath.

"Look, Haj, you can. The Butcher has killed three before. You can put a stop to the string of murders." Calder replied.

"I can't kill another sentient being." Haj responded back to Calder's comment.

"Then how do you suspect to fulfil that promise to Shahvee? Talk the bandits into giving the amulet back?" Calder asked, receiving a wide-eyed stare from Haj-Jah.

"You know about that?"

"Funnily enough, I was stationed at the docks then. I kind of eavesdropped on the promise you made. Don't worry, though, I will help you." Calder replied.

Haj-Jah breathed out heavily, feeling himself relax. "We'd better get some rest. I don't want us being responsible for not stopping the murder."

It was Shahvee's turn to get supplies. The Argonians in the Assemblage rotate who will buy the things needed. Food was the top priority, and clothes came a close second. The guards, after flinging their customary racist remarks, allowed Shahvee to enter the city. At eighteen, it was her second time going, since the first time she went she was little, with her...

'No. I will not remember the pain once more.' She thought, banishing the memory from her mind.

A little Nord girl was standing on close to the gates, holding a basket filled with a variety of small flowers. Shahvee walked past, heading straight for the marketplace. Even walking through the streets, the Nords of the city and the guards yelled insults at her. Luckily, Neetrenaza was kind enough to give her directions to the marketplace, just in case she'd forgotten, and Stands-In-Shallows gave her a list, one that didn't involve skooma. The streets were dark, lit only by a few torches and the stars.

She came into the marketplace, where the eyes of pretty much everyone honed in on her. Most were of shock, some were of anger, but there was one that she couldn't place. It was intent, she knew that much, but not what kind of intent. It didn't matter, she had to do something. She saw the vendor for meats and began to barter. Somehow, the price for meats decreased or increased depending on what she was looking for. When she came out of the bartering, she had half of the pouch full of money left. She stood in front of the fresh produce stall, trying to pick out the best. Unlike the others, she had the mindset of a merchant but she was a thief before, so she had a mind of what's expensive.

She heard a small ringing sound of metal on leather. Dismissing it as the meat vendor going to cut another chunk of meat, she went back to bartering. Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her mouth and a sharp pain emanated from her midsection. She faintly heard people scream, most likely the vendor and those that gathered in the marketplace, but Shahvee didn't pay much attention. The pain was felt again as something was ripped out, the hand moving away from her mouth and allowing her to fall. Her own basket of goods fell to the floor, dispersing the produce she just bought.

She heard a series of footfalls and a yell, which sounded like someone saying "no" but she wasn't sure. The edges of her vision were clouding up with darkness. An impact on the stones was heard, but that was a follower of a crack of short lightning bolts striking something. Another series of footfalls came running towards her. She felt someone pick her up and carry her somewhere, her body jostling with each step.

The pain grew too much and she passed out. Shahvee still didn't know where she was going, but it did count that it smelt like off alchemical ingredients before she passed out.

Haj-Jah was walking through the graveyard. It was ironic, four days ago he began to search for the Butcher, and now, he will be given justice. The tombstones, coupled with the fact that it was a dark night, made the surrounding area seem more dangerous than before. A scream was heard from the south, in the marketplace. Haj began to run, hoping that he was not too late and that he could save Shahvee. He took the stairs two at a time, rounding the corner from grasping onto the stones and looked over the square. He saw a hooded figure, holding a dagger, who's blade was inside Shahvee's back. He roughly pulled it out, Shahvee falling to the floor.

"Nooo!" Haj yelled, electricity sparking between his fingertips and palms and his eyesight filling up with red.

The hooded figure turned to face him, the dagger being held out threateningly. Like what Wuunferth said, the guards did nothing to assist the Argonian mage, so Haj-Jah was on his own for now. The hooded figure began to run towards the apprentice, the right arm pulled back to stab forwards. The Argonian reacted fast. He charged up the electricity in his palms and shot them out towards the hooded figure. Both streaks hit the figure, lightning coursing through the veins. The man slumped to the ground, the chest not rising or falling. He was dead, and Haj was alive.

His eyesight went back to normal, and saw the result. He couldn't do anything now. Shahvee was dying. Calder came running from the eastern entrance. He saw Shahvee lying down in a pool of her blood, but still alive. Calder ran over and picked her up gently. Haj motioned his hand towards the White Phial and Calder took her in there. Haj walked over to the hooded figure and pulled back the hood, revealing who the Butcher was.

The crowd, and Haj-Jah, gasped at the identity of the Butcher. Haj-Jah vomited out to the side due to who he killed. It was Calixto, his eyes were open in deep shock and his mouth was slightly open. Being respectful, Haj brought his hand up to Calixto's eyes and pulled the eyelids down shut, yet feeling as sick as possible yet again for killing a person. He looked through the possessions that Calixto had on him. He pulled out the Necromancer's Amulet, leaving the rest where it was. He ran into the White Phial, where the shopkeeper and his assistant were desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from Shahvee's back wound. Calder was sitting off to one side, unable to do much.

Haj ran up to Shahvee's unconscious form and laid both of his hands over the wound. The Restoration magic he knew would come in handy now, but also put it to the test. He pumped magic into the wound, allowing the muscles, bone and skin to reknit and reset. Unfortunately, his magicka ran out before the wound fully healed. Luckily, the apothecary pulled out a healing potion that was in stock and poured the contents down Shahvee's throat. A slight cough but nothing else major. The rest of the wound fully healed over, but a deep pink scar was left on her back.

"It might be best if we left her here tonight. It's a good thing that she's still alive." The apothecary said.

"Ok. Thank you." Haj replied. He began to walk away from the counter but stopped and turned back around. "For the potion and services." He laid a few gold coins on the countertop.

"Our pleasure to assist." The apothecary said, bowing slightly.

Haj-Jah and Calder walked out, where the crowd around the corpse of Calixto dispersed. Calder stared at the body in shock.

"Calixto was the Butcher?" He asked. Haj nodded in reply.

"Come on. We'd better tell Jorleif that we got the Butcher." Haj said, Calder held up a hand.

He took his war axe out, as well as a large leather pouch. He knelt down and raised the axe in the air. He brought it down upon Calixto's neck, decapitating the corpse. He placed the head inside the pouch, which began to stain the bottom red with blood. He nodded that he was ready, although it made Haj-Jah feel even more sick.

They walked up to the Palace of the Kings. Knowing that Jorleif doesn't have a proper set of quarters, Haj walked through the hall, went to the kitchen and shook Jorleif out of his sleep. The Nord shook his own head to wake himself up, his face betraying his emotions of anger.

"What is it now?" He asked Haj and Calder angrily.

"Calixto was the Butcher. He's dead now." Haj replied calmly.

Calder took Calixto's head out from the pouch, strangely calm while holding it.

Jorleif's eyes widened at the accusation and the head, his anger dissipating. "Ysmir's beard. That man was a little bit odd, but I'd never.." Jorleif began to say, cutting his own rant short.

Calder shoved the head back into the pouch and gave it to Jorleif, who placed it to the side.

"Doesn't matter now. You've done this city a great service, Haj. I'll post something that would make the guards a lot more cordial with you in the future." Jorleif said, shaking Haj's hand in thanks.

"My pleasure." Haj-Jah replied, letting go of Jorleif's hand. "We'll let you get back to sleep."

The two left the kitchen, where Jorleif lied back down onto the bedroll and fell asleep a bit too quickly.

"Well, who will tell the news to the Argonians in the Assemblage?" Calder asked.

"I will. I think Neetrenaza will try to rip your throat open if you try."

"True. I'll be going to the barracks. May the Nine watch over you, Haj. Including the Hist as well. And whatever else anyone worships."

Haj laughed at the wish of good health. "May the Hist and the Nine and whoever watch over you too, Calder." He replied, still laughing.

He walked out of the Palace and down the Stone Quarter. He came down to the gates that lead to the docks, where the little girl that usually stood there wasn't anymore. He went through the gates and down the stairs. He knew where the door to the Assemblage was and so he walked to it and knocked on the door. A lock was heard being undone and the door was pulled open. The face that met him was Neetrenaza, who did not look happy.

"Why are you here?" He asked, his voice and body language not covering his anger.

"News, about Shahvee." Haj-Jah replied calmly.

Neetrenaza calmed down, upon hearing about Shahvee. He stood off to one side and allowed Haj-Jah to walk through. When Haj-Jah was fully inside, Neetrenaza closed the door softly and locked the door. He motioned with his hand for the mage to take a seat, which both Argonians did.

"What was this about Shahvee?" He asked, his voice on the edge of despair.

"She was targeted by the Butcher tonight. The Butcher is now dead." Haj explained.

"What about Shahvee? What about her? Is she dead?" Neetrenaza asked once again, his anger rising.

"No, she is alive. Luckily, Calder and I came and helped at the right time." Haj-Jah explained.

Neetrenaza breathed out, putting his head into his hands and calming down. "Thank the Hist for that. Shahvee's like a little sister to all of us. Recently seen eighteen winters now and almost died after that. It's great seeing that there are people looking out for us, specifically you and this Calder." Neetrenaza said.

"She may not be the same after that experience. If your employer asks why Shahvee isn't there, direct them to me." Haj-Jah replied. He was thinking of a joke, but decided to not say it now.

"I'm not sure if Torbjorn would like that."

Haj-Jah stood up and began to walk out. "Wait!"

He turned around to see Neetrenaza standing in front of him.

"Your name?"

"Haj-Jah Cadorees. Why?"

"Haj-Jah. Thank you, Marsh Friend."

"My pleasure." With that said, Haj-Jah walked out of the Assemblage.

He returned to the Palace and, with the sun peaking over the horizon, he went to bed. A long night drained him of much of his energy and slept for one day. Wuunferth understood his small plight and continued on his own research. Calder, with Jorleif's approval, was diverted from active duty for that day.

Haj-Jah was standing out the front of the Shatter-Shield's lodge. He still held the key to Hjerim on his person. He went up to the steps and, was about to knock on the door, when the door was pulled back, revealing Tova Shatter-Shield. While she was still solemn, she may be overjoyed when she may hear the news.

"Tova Shatter-Shield, here is the key to Hjerim." Haj said, handing the key over to her.

"Thank you. Did you find anything about the murderer?" Tova asked.

"A lot. It was tied into a necromantic ritual, by Calixto. He's dead now, after trying to claim a fourth victim."

Tova began to smile when she heard that the Butcher was dead, but her smile disappeared when she heard about the fourth victim.

"A fourth?"

Haj nodded. "Shahvee, one of your husband's workers, was attacked. Luckily, it wasn't fatal and we were able to save her."

Tova's smile came back when she heard that Shahvee was still alive. "Poor girl. Lost her father at a young age, though." She reminisced.

"What?"

Tova was shocked at her words. "In fact, forget I said anything about that." She said, waving a hand to dismiss the past.

"Thank you for your time, Tova." Haj said, walking away to the White Phial. He received a note that Shahvee would not move from a corner in the healing room. She would stare blankly at a wall and sit in a feeble position.

He came to the White Phial and entered. The apothecary's assistant recognised Haj-Jah and lead him to where Shahvee was. What he saw was exactly how the note explained. Shahvee was in the corner and staring, small tears coming from the eyes, down the cheeks and onto the floor. She must've noticed the presences of the two, since she looked their way before looking back to the wall.

Haj-Jah slowly walked towards Shahvee and knelt down to her level. "Come on, Shahvee. Talk to me." He proposed, keeping his voice light and not making the proposition an order.

Shahvee didn't speak right away. She breathed in sharply, causing more tears to fall. She took a deep breath. "Sorry." She whispered, but Haj-Jah kind of heard it.

"What?" Haj-Jah asked, not fully sure what Shahvee said.

"Sorry." She whispered in a louder voice.

Haj-Jah came forwards and enveloped Shahvee in an embrace. It wasn't long until Shahvee put her forehead onto his shoulder and cried into it.

"Come on, let's get you back to the docks." He said, standing up.

Shahvee offered no resistance and stood up, allowing Haj-Jah to slowly guide her out of the room and into the marketplace. Many eyes looked their way, but not of hate or disdain, but those of happiness or sorrow. The meat vendor had a bag to give to Shahvee, since the produce she bought from him were ruined when she was stabbed. And similar with the fresh produce vendor, as she gave her a small bag as well. One of the guards, who was a female, took Shahvee as a thanks for helping the guards while Haj-Jah kept holding the two bags.

"No wonder why Calder has a different mindset to the rest of us." The guard remarked, guiding Shahvee's unfocused body to the gates.

Haj's eyes widened. He recognised that voice. "It is true. I just did what was necessary, Erila." Haj-Jah replied.

"You know, when I first saw you with Calder, I thought you were weak. Now though, you aren't weak to kill."

Haj-Jah became distant, but kept walking. "I am hesitant to take lives. I felt sick just by seeing his face and the actions of what I'd done." He came back to reality. "But looks like Nords can change."

"True, true. Much to my distaste."

The three made it through the gates and down the stairs. Since the Argonians were working, the Assemblage was locked. But, upon seeing the state that Shahvee was in, Neetrenaza stopped what he was doing and unlocked the Assemblage door. With that, Shahvee was placed on one of the four beds, where she continued to blankly stare at the wall or the floor. Erila left and Haj placed both of the bags onto the table. He went to the door to leave.

"Don't leave. Please." Shahvee pleaded.

Haj retracted his hand from the door and walked back over to Shahvee. Some of the purple streaks around her eyes were washing off of the scales from tears. It broke his heart, seeing her in this state. Haj-Jah went over to Shahvee's sitting form and sat down beside her. He wrapped his arm around her slender form, where Shahvee rested her head on Haj-Jah's shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes until another Argonian walked in. He was old, his scales a sick shade of mint green. Clothes that were ragged clung to him desperately. He walked over to the two. That was when Haj-Jah realised that his scales were also slightly tinged with grey, indicating the old age of the Argonian.

"I'll take Shahvee, friend. You can leave." He said.

Haj-Jah nodded and stood, having the older Argonian take his place next to Shahvee. Haj-Jah left the Assemblage and stopped on the edge of one of the piers. He took the Necromancer's Amulet out of one of his pouches and held it in his hand. He looked out over the water, half frozen over.

He narrowed his eyes and looked down at the amulet in his hand. It looked like it was begging him to keep it, but Haj-Jah had other plans. He burned the straps of the amulet, leaving nothing for it to connect to. He looked back up, pulled his arm back with his fist closing around the accursed object and threw it into the water with a satisfying sound. He rapidly saw Calixto's face in the air, the face he saw when he was dead. Accusing him.

Haj-Jah looked down at the stones, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. But you forced my hand, Calixto. Now you can rejoin whoever you were going to bring back." He said to himself and obviously Calixto's spirit.

He turned and walked back up to the Palace of the Kings. He had to get ready to get to Ivarstead.

The Khajiit was sitting in his cell, thinking over his stupidity and his apparent lack of skill. He used to be good. The best, even.

The room around him and his cell turned a shade of blue in the sunlight. Everyone paused in place, even though they had no idea what was happening since they couldn't see it happening.

A note hovered in midair, floating in a sphere of blue energy. The Khajiit took it and the energy disappeared. He opened the note and read the contents.

There will be two Blades in Riverwood in a few days, an Altmer and a Dunmer. Give them the note I will give you in a few days time.

And say this phrase to them. "Remember the 30th of Frostfall?"

-A.

The Khajiit closed it and tucked it away in his rough sack clothing.

Time reverted back to normal, and one of the Windhelm guards walked up to his cell, key in hand. They stuck the key in and turned it, opening the lock that the Khajiit wouldn't even attempt to lock.

He knew he was out of practice, and therefore wouldn't try.

When the door was swung open, he was dragged out and his stuff was thrown to him. Given no sense of privacy, he had to strip in front of the guards and replaced all of his old attire.

The cotton undershirt, the silken wraps and breeches, with the sash around his waist. The dagger, made to the old Yokudan style and with trusty Redguard steel, was placed within its scabbard and into the sash. The dark blue cloak, even though most people thought it was black, went over the garb and completed his look. He was shoved quickly and he complied, knowing the old result rather well.

He went to the Grey Quarter when he was shoved out of the Palace, looking at the note when he made it.

At least he still had that skill mastered. Now to practice his other skills back up to legendary status.

**If you like to leave a review, please do. In fact, if you'd like, leave who your favourite character is so far and I may create a short story about them.**


	14. Territories mostly unknown

**Sister Nightingale: I know that my earlier chapters were complete and utter crap, but I was still trying to find my footing in the Elder Scrolls series of fanfictions. In fact, I was still trying to find my style altogether. I am glad that you took the time to leave a review and that you are liking this story so far. It is nice for you to suggest that I rewrite the earlier chapters, but sometimes going forwards is for the best right now. Do not despair, I will rewrite them when I have the chance. As for the breaks, my own twist. And yet, placing a bunch of underscores on an iPad is fricking annoying.**

**May Nocturnal grant you considerable luck, Sister Nightingale.**

**Pietersielie: Great to see that you are enjoying this. Must be how I am displaying the others as either blank slates or boring as heck. **

**And to all of you guys and gals reading this, happy holidays and a merry new year.**

On their way towards the border into Skyrim, they crossed paths with what once was a mighty structure in the mountains. The oval of smooth stone and the burnt down remains of a gate and housing. Undian kept a solemn face as he stood there in the centre of the broken fortress, even spilling tears to soak the stones which were cracked by boulders thrown by obvious catapults.

Ji'Chulus leant over to Vivdena, who stood there with all of her armour on. Although the wind howled and touched them with its icy tendrils, the area around them was filled with silence.

"What is this place?" He whispered to the Dunmer.

"Cloud Ruler Temple, the fortress of the Blades." Vivdena replied.

"And why is he still?" Ji'Chulus asked once more, concerning Undian's lack of movement to the wind.

"Tall one worked alongside the Blades in Cyrodiil. While this one worked with a pure spy network in Morrowind, tall one worked alongside warriors who doubled as spies." Vivdena explained.

"And the fact that they shown me the truth of the Divines." Undian said, breaking his silence.

"How so?"

Undian sighed and turned, his face hardened in the icy wind. "I was once a part of the Thalmor before the Oblivion Crisis. I held my views and the rest held theirs, although I always said that theirs was wrong." He explained. He looked back to the burnt down structure. "But that view changed when we used the blood of Tiber Septim in order for me to get to Mankar Cameron's Paradise. Due to that, I became an official member of the Blades and renounced my Thalmor past. Due to my past influence in the Thalmor party, I tried to sway them away from the crap they spewed from their mouths." He looked back to them. "They sent assassins after me when my parents disowned me from their family. Not that I cared, and you know the rest, Ji'Chulus."

Ji'Chulus nodded his understanding of the recollection. He tried to equate it to something that happened in the Lilmothiit past, but the old records were lost to them. He tried himself, but nothing like that happened.

Undian walked up to them, looking down the steps that they climbed. "We still have to get to Skyrim. We'll stop at Riverwood first to meet someone, then go onwards to Ivarstead." Undian explained.

"This one shall follow you, Undian, if you are meeting who this one thinks it is." Vivdena replied.

Undian nodded, but turned to Ji'Chulus. "If you tell anyone about the meeting we will have, I will personally kill you. Understood?" He threatened calmly.

Ji'Chulus, frightened for his life, nodded meekly.

They heard the skies break with thunder, but what followed afterward attracted their attention.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

All three looked for a source to the shout in the skies. It sounded further north than their location.

"These ones have to move." Vivdena said, causing Undian to nod in response.

All three descended the stairs, although Undian and Vivdena did so more quickly and more recklessly than Ji'Chulus' quick yet measured ones. When they left the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple, they turned to the pass to the west for their entrance to Skyrim.

Undian stopped and turned back to Cloud Ruler Temple, a shadow of its former glory. "May Talos find your souls and bring them to Aetherius." He whispered to the dead before running once more, leaving the ruins standing high against the ice cold wind.

When they crossed the border into Skyrim, the snow of Cyrodiil gave way to dirt and grass of Skyrim. And yet the incessant cold remained, although it was also muggy at the same time. It was an uncomfortable state of climate.

The night brought pure darkness to the forest of which they were in, and the stomachs of the three had to be filled with the catches that Ji'Chulus expertly killed with only a knife. The deer that never knew of the Lilmothiit's presence provided fine venison for them, rabbits that were too slow to react to Ji'Chulus' silent footfalls, absent scent and the shadow that faced away from them.

Ji'Chulus felt slightly more comfortable around the two that he travelled with, but he felt that something was off about Undian. Something more powerful, but unknown to fathom to the Lilmothiit. Like a claw that isn't seen until too late, the assassin in the crowd. The bird of prey that flies too high for any eye to see it, until it dives for the prey of sustenance. Hidden, yet there all the same.

Almost silent footfalls were heard at the edge of the camp, prompting the two warriors to grab a hold of their weapons, Vivdena her claymore and Undian Duskfang, the sword that was the opposite of Dawnfang that only appeared at night. But something with Undian changed. His eyes went from the golden to orange feline, what the others would call whites turned to the deepest black. He smiled a sadistic smile and lowered Duskfang. He raised his arms to shoulder height, placing his left hand on top of his right, palm to knuckle. The air underneath the crossed hands begun to distort. A cane appeared in his crossed hands and the bottom was planted into the dirt. Vivdena placed her claymore down upon seeing her Altmer companion change.

"You know, if you wanted to talk with us, you could just ask!" He yelled into the darkness, his voice changing to something completely different to the Cyrodiilic accent Ji'Chulus was used to.

"Now, you idiots!" A Nord voice yelled.

A whole group of bandits rushed into the firelight. Undian stood calmly and let go of the cane. But it stayed upright, but it wasn't stuck into the ground.

"Well, well, ladies! Time for a fight!" Undian yelled once more, casting two Conjuration spells at once. After he casted the spells, he grabbed his cane yet again.

Two portals appeared, and a woman fell out of each of them. One was dark, her armour revealing and jet black, the other bright skinned, her armour golden and just as revealing. The golden one used a bow and arrow of the same stuff as her armour to fight, while the dark one used a sword and shield. The fight between the bandits and the two were protracted and it looked like not-quite-Undian was getting frustrated, hitting the point of his cane on the soft ground repeatedly in anger.

"Boring! Boring! Boring!" He yelled, casting two extra spells.

Two creatures fell out of them. One was some kind of atronach that no one else has seen before, the skin looked to be real and glowing red glyphs covered the body, and the other looked like a walking tree, with four legs that looked like roots, two arms that looked like branches and a face that was stuck in a plain expression. The fight lasted a lot shorter, and the violence seemingly made not-Undian extremely overjoyed.

When all of the bandits were dead, the two creatures simply disappeared while the two women hugged each other lovingly and disappeared in a conjoined portal. Not-quite-Undian clutched his head, making the staff disappear, and fell to his knees. When he lowered his hands, he looked back at the other two with his regular golden eyes. He stood and sat back down, not distraught at what is around him and what he caused.

"It happened, didn't it?" He asked Vivdena.

The Dunmer nodded in return, while Ji'Chulus was a lot more jumpy at the Altmer's movements.

Undian and Vivdena rolled out their sleeping rolls and slept the night away. The Lilmothiit, when he was assured that none were watching, left the safety of the firelight to find at least one bandit. A Bosmer, who somehow survived the attack, was the one he begun to talk to.

He knelt down, holding no weapons.

"What has Hate done to you to deserve this?" He asked the Bosmer.

"Kiss my ass, mate. You don't know anything." The Bosmer spat back, spitting up blood in the process.

"Looks like Darkness wants your soul." Ji'Chulus said, shying slightly away from the blood.

The Bosmer smiled, his teeth heavily smeared in blood. Well, what was left of them. He was laughing. He spat up a huge amount of blood. "Oblivion take you, beast. Oblivion take you for supporting that monster." He said before the life left his body.

Ji'Chulus shuffled away and ran back to the camp. He dived underneath the fur lining of his sleeping roll.

It took him many many minutes to go to sleep. And yet, his sleep was filled with nightmares of the bloodshed that just happened.

When they woke, Vivdena had no idea where they were. And she assured them that she walked through Skyrim at least once before.

Maybe that was the problem. The night crept in too early for Vivdena to get a good bearing.

They were pretty much forced to walk north, through the dense woodland. Spriggans appeared out of nowhere and attacked them with their forest magic, but they were dispatched by the two heroes. Whenever bears tried to maul them to dust were slain by an accurate spear stab. Bandits that thought it was wise enough to attempt to rob two heavily armed warriors and their charge (not the action) were brought down with great ease. Heck, they even made it to a funnel where another group of bandits tried to extort a fine out of them but ended up having a stab or a slice in the guts as the only things they got from them.

"It's like they never learn." Undian remarked.

Vivdena nodded. "Tall one speaks truth. This one agrees with all her heart." She said.

They turned a corner on the road and saw the best sight before them. A town, two guards lingering just outside the archway to their road. A town! A settlement!

Civilisation!

Finally knowing that they are safe, they ran towards the arch and welcomed civilisation back into their reality. Ji'Chulus was amazed at the small village, this time being the first when he left his tribe just over one month ago. He thought that the cities he visited in Cyrodiil and Elsweyr didn't count, as they were larger settlements. Everywhere he looked, there were guards and townspeople running through their everyday tasks.

Undian, his helmet removed, told Vivdena, who also had her helmet removed, to search for the nearest trading post and buy a map for them to never get lost again. Undian told Ji'Chulus to follow Vivdena while he went to the blacksmith, most likely to have his armour repaired.

When the Dunmer and Lilmothiit split from the Altmer, they looked around for the trading post. They found it near where they thought was the western edge, on the opposite side of the road across the local inn, Dead Man's Drink. They read the sign above the door, Grey Pine Goods.

They entered the post, with Vivdena thinking how small it was compared to some places and Ji'Chulus amazed at the amount of open space within. In the tribe, the tepees only had enough space to fit a family of four with just enough space to fit the fire in the centre. They looked to the right, where two Nords were arguing. Not with fists, which was the usual Nordic way of arguing, but with words that could cut deep. Neither could guess their ages well, since Nords weren't common where they came from. But they could estimate that the one standing behind the desk was the older one with rougher skin and an underlying wisdom. But what one can see does not mean that it is true.

Their argument finished, the younger one slammed his palms upon the wood and stormed off towards the door.

He saw the two newcomers, his eyes full of hate.

"Out of my way, knife-ear." He said, bumping shoulders with Vivdena on his way past.

Vivdena looked backwards towards the Nord that walked out, her eyes staring passively. 'That one was rather rude. How dare that one be that way?' She thought.

She looked back at the other Nord, the obvious merchant here. He sighed, combing his long blonde hair down with his hand.

"I apologise on my brother's behaviour. Just, don't mind Bolund. He's young and gets riled easily." The Nord said.

Vivdena walked up and placed her helmet down upon the bench, but kept her hand on it. She cocked her head to the right, seemingly analysing the Nord.

"North-man is sincere. How come this one isn't like Bolund?" She asked.

If the Nord did pick up on the accent, he did a good job at hiding it. Well, he obviously did. He just didn't show his surprise. He reached his right hand out, open, which Vivdena took and shook.

"Name's Solaf. Well met, Dark Elf. As for myself, I've no dislike for strangers. Met lots of 'em during my time as a Stormcloak." The Nord replied.

Ji'Chulus turned to the Nord. "What is a Stormcloak?" He asked, his voice quiet. So quiet that the sounds of the wood in the fire splitting could be louder than his voice.

"A true Nord. Those who fight under Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak to bring back the worship of Talos. Haven't you heard?" Solaf answered.

"These ones have been out of the information loop for years. Living with anti-Thalmor bandits in Imperial-land country." Vivdena responded.

Solaf nodded. "Now, what are you two here for?" He asked.

"These ones want a map of Skyrim." Vivdena answered.

"Twenty coins." Solaf replied.

Vivdena placed the required coins on the counter, sparkling gold in the firelight. Solaf quickly counted them, swiped them off the bench and replaced them with a brown-yellow piece of rolled up parchment, held in its cylindrical shape by a leather strap.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Solaf said.

Vivdena picked the map up and, with Ji'Chulus close behind her, left the store. When they got out, they saw Undian standing just outside in his clothing.

"Do you have the map?" He asked Vivdena.

The Dunmer held up the parchment in response. "And this one's armour?" She implied.

"The blacksmith said it would take a few days to repair the Imperial Dragon Armour." Undian answered. He shrugged. "Looks like I'm stuck here."

The group of three went into the inn, where the heat from the central fire pit warmed up every square centimetre of the place. A bard played a pleasant tune on a wooden flute in the corner, filling the inn with some musical entertainment. They found an empty table quickly and laid the map down onto it. Vivdena got a tankard and filled it with the contents of one of her water skins on her belt. It was not water, more like alcohol.

Undian unclasped the leather around the map and sprawled it out, studying it. Ji'Chulus looked over, seeing strange symbols, lines and sigils. Undian groaned.

"It doesn't show us the roads needed to get to Riverwood. Shows us where it is, but not how." Undian explained.

Vivdena lowered the tankard, just about to take a sip out of it. "This one is sure that someone is willing to help these ones get there." Vivdena responded, quickly taking a sip out of the tankard.

Undian nodded and looked around the inn. There weren't much people, the bartender, the bard and a few patrons. But an old Nord in heavy leather armour caught the Altmer's attention. An old friend, served in the Legion during the Great War.

"Hey, Talrich!" Undian exclaimed, catching the Nord's attention.

The Nord was shocked to see the two familiar faces. He stood from his chair and lumbered over to them. Undian shook Talrich's hand, smiling for his old comrade.

"Undian, you knife-ear. How are you, my friend?" Talrich asked.

"Been better, but still well enough. There is something that we need some help with."

"Oh? With what?"

"Getting to Riverwood from wherever we are. You know Skyrim, and it has changed too much for Vivdena here to know."

Talrich leant over the table and looked down upon the map. He pointed to the stag symbol, the word Falkreath written in red ink above and to the left.

"This is where we are right now." Talrich informed.

He moved his finger to a town to the east-north-east of Falkreath. "You'll need to get to Helgen."

He then moved his finger north-north-east, placing his finger upon a town with a similar symbol to Helgen. But the ink above it said Riverwood.

"Follow the road east and follow the signs to get to Helgen. Take the northern exit in Helgen to be on your way towards Riverwood." Talrich instructed. He looked at Undian, who was studying the map. "And why to Riverwood and not to the city of Whiterun?"

"An old friend is there. I only hope that she's well." Undian answered. "Thank you, Talrich. Looks like I'll owe you a bottle of mead later."

"My pleasure, Undian. May the Gods guide you." Talrich responded, walking away from them

Undian turned to Vivdena, who listened in carefully while still drinking out of her tankard. How she was able to drink that stuff and not be wasted yet is beyond him. "Vivdena, you go and meet Delphine with Ji'Chulus early tomorrow. I'll stay here and catch up when the armour's ready." Undian ordered in a whisper.

"Yes, tall one." Vivdena responded.

Vivdena and Ji'Chulus walked out of the eastern exit of Falkreath before the sun peaked over the horizon the next day. Ji'Chulus kept looking around, his hood covering his face in darkness, while Vivdena looked on the straight and narrow.

They went through the bandit checkpoint where they slain the bandits that attempted to extort them. They saw their remains eaten from scavengers, most likely the vultures. Upon seeing the sight, Ji'Chulus collapsed to his knees and heaved his breakfast up onto the cobblestone.

Vivdena roughly pulled the Lilmothiit up by the bicep, pulling him along with her left hand.

"So much death." The Lilmothiit breathed out, obviously distraught.

"It is a part of these ones' lives. Death for the Gods." Vivdena explained.

Suddenly, seven bandits jumped out of the bushes. All brandished different weapons, ranging from the bow to the sword and the Dunmer bandit held magic. Vivdena dropped Ji'Chulus' arm, letting him collapse, and stood proudly in the face of death.

"What do the _renrijri_ want with this one?" Vivdena yelled.

The Orc stepped forward, holding his warhammer with ease behind him. "I'm guessing it was you who killed our comrades at the camp. If it wasn't, you'll die anyways." The Orc said.

Vivdena turned her head to the Dunmer and pointed at her. "Does the fellow fire-elf know what this one wears on her finger?" Vivdena asked.

The Dunmer bandit mage looked down to Vivdena's fingers, seeing the one ring that was supposed to exist only in legend.

"The One-Under-Moon-And-Star!" She exclaimed. "Who are you?"

Vivdena walked up to the Orc, who was now snarling at the bone-clad skirmisher. She took the Moon-And-Star off and twirled it around in her fingers.

'This one always wondered what would happen if this one puts it on someone else.' Vivdena thought.

Vivdena then rapidly punched the Orc in the face, broke the wrists and made the Orc drop his weapon. But the Orc was still struggling under Vivdena's grip. The ancient skirmisher looked up at the Dunmer mage.

"This one is Vivdena Kharbussi. Hortator of Houses Telvanni and Redoran, the Nerevarine of legend and your killer." She answered.

**(A/N: Do not read this section if you're squeamish.)**

She then placed the Moon-And-Star onto the finger of the Orc, waiting for something to happen. Then, the Orc began to violently shake on the ground, as if struck by lightning, eyes closed. He opened his eyes, revealing the molten mess they've become. Blood began to flow out like tears. The Orc then screamed in pain, regurgitating blood and a whole legion of spirits. The spirits fanned outwards and casted a whole array of long forgotten magic onto the poor Orc. The Orsimer's body began to shake a lot more violently.

His body then exploded in a mess of body parts and blood, leaving the bones where they are on the ground. The spirits then melted the remains of the Orc into the ground, leaving several puddles of what used to be Orc. But only the Moon-And-Star remained undamaged and free of sludge, still around the finger of the remains of the Orc.

**(A/N: Ok, begin reading again.)**

Vivdena picked up the Moon-And-Star and placed it upon her finger once more. Rapidly, she took out her crossbow and fired a bolt at the Dunmer mage. It hit her in the heart and she collapsed, dead. Without proper time to reload, Vivdena dropped the crossbow while taking her claymore off her back. The massive swing that followed caught a headstrong Nord in the stomach with the blade, spilling his intestines onto the ground.

A Redguard bandit moved away from the slaughterhouse which was the bone-clad warrior and onto the easiest of the two. The one that was kneeling down, the hood of the robe it wore disguised who was under it. But it wasn't human, if the legs could say anything.

"Die!" He yelled, raising his sword high for a cut.

The hooded person looked up, obviously scared of what would happen.

The Redguard raised the sword higher, a sadistic smile upon his face. But a rapid pain emitted from his back and onto his chest. But it disappeared as soon as it came.

He looked down. An ornate spear was in him, the tip clearly seen. Whoever did this was powerful indeed. He dropped his sword and collapsed, dead.

The claymore finished off the last of the renegades and Vivdena sheathed it over her back. She picked up her crossbow, reloaded it and placed it over her left shoulder. She strode over to the Redguard renegade, clutching her spear in both hands and placing a foot on the corpse's back. She pulled with her arms and pushed with her foot, successfully removing her spear from the corpse.

She sheathed it over her shoulder once more. She heard whimpers coming from Ji'Chulus. The Lilmothiit removed his hood, revealing the maroon and white furred vulpine with tears streaking from his eyes. Every time he breathed, he whimpered like the household dogs in Cyrodiil.

"Why?" Ji'Chulus whispered, looking between Vivdena and the Redguard renegade.

"The dark human wasn't a regular part of north-men society. That one attacked these ones. Dark human would've killed these ones without remorse." Vivdena explained calmly.

Ji'Chulus stood up, tears still rolling down from his eyes. "And this bandit had memories! And we took them away!" He shouted.

"And these ones has had just as many. Tell this one, how old is Ji'Chulus?" She asked.

"Over sixteen winters." Ji'Chulus answered.

"Too young. And if dark human would've killed you, Ji'Chulus would've lost the rest of life and ability of making memories. Better killing those who take than allow them to take ours."

Vivdena roughly pulled Ji'Chulus up from his knees and guided him, still roughly, away from the scene of death.

The two reached the remains of Helgen in mid-morning, seeing the remains of a battle here as well. The vultures have gotten to this place in addition. From what the Dark Elf could determine, they've been dead for at least a day or two.

"Stay calm, Ji'Chulus. Not sure if these ones would encounter any more _renrijri_." Vivdena stated, somehow walking calmly through the bandit carnage. Ji'Chulus breathed in deeply, closed his eyes and walked blindly through the exact same carnage.

Vivdena looked around the fortress. Imperial made bricks were shattered, wooden structures were burnt down and corpses that lay inside the gates were charred beyond recognition in terrible poses of excruciating pain.

'Whatever happened here is not one for the mind of this one. Let tall one take care of this.' Vivdena thought. She wasn't a thinker, she was a fighter.

Vivdena turned towards the north gate, which was open somehow. She felt a bump on her left side, obviously Ji'Chulus. The Lilmothiit opened his eyes and followed Vivdena through the north gate, since when he bumped into her, she took off.

It took until afternoon, but they reached the small town of Riverwood. They didn't meet anymore bandits along the roads. They saw that the guards here were draped in a different cloth, this time yellow than an off grey. They walked through the street, earning rather curious and untrusting glares from both guards and locals. They entered the local inn, seeing it as the exact same layout as the one in Falkreath. However, when they entered, Vivdena saw a familiar face.

Delphine.

Vivdena took her helmet off and tucked it under her left armpit. She walked up to Delphine, who looked worn out. Obviously back from a small 'trip.' And while she was walking up to Delphine, Ji'Chulus close on her heels. Not that she blamed him, he was young and hesitant to kill. Similar to her during the start of her journey in Vvardenfell. Except not in Vvardenfell and younger than her by almost ten years. And having a protector instead of being on his own.

"Delphine." Vivdena said, gaining the Breton's attention.

"What is it now?" Delphine asked, turning around and obviously thinking that it was just another Khajiit. She was wrong when the Breton saw Vivdena.

"Vivdena." Delphine breathed out. She placed a hand on Vivdena's shoulder. "It's been some time."

"This one feels the same way." Vivdena replied.

Delphine looked over at the hooded person behind her Dunmer sister-in-arms. Vivdena seemed to catch onto the unspoken question.

"Enemy of the Thalmor. It is a long story, half-breed." Vivdena whispered, using the derogatory term for Bretons in a joking way.

"Right. Both of you, follow me." Delphine ordered. She turned around, the two others walking behind her. "Orgnar, mind the bar!" She yelled.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The Nord behind the counter responded, obviously bored.

Delphine looked around, wondering where the Altmer was. He said he was coming.

"Where's the Grandmaster?" Delphine said when they were out of earshot.

"In Falkreath, waiting for his armour to be repaired. Tall one would be here in a few more days." Vivdena answered.

At least they were finally in Riverwood now.

**Translations: **

**renrijri: scum, bandits, etc.**


	15. Side story: Undian: The Betrayal

**Ugggh! Here I am, not dead yet! I am so sorry. A million apologies for every person that has followed so far. I am working on the next chapter. It is just difficult at the moment. Homework, school, other responsibilities (other fanfictions, shhhhhh) and things will be slow this year. Think of this as a filler for now. A part of Undian's story. His thoughts are split, his mad side will be in italics and underlined, while his rational side would just be in italics.**

**Enjoy, and a million more apologies.**

The one Altmer he could relate to is now dead.

And the only thing he did was supposed blasphemy. Blasphemy for speaking the truth.

He was there standing in front of the Altmer-made oak double doors. Two Thalmor soldiers in black and white Elven armour on either side of him, yet another Altmer in armour. But he was in the Imperial Dragon Armour, the armour worn by Champions and Emperors alike, minus the helmet.

He left it at the front door.

The oak double doors were pushed open by the Thalmor soldiers and the third walked through. He saw a group of people that he didn't want to see.

The very leaders of the Thalmor party. His parents included.

The one seated on the upper-most seat leant forwards, her eyes staring at the standing Altmer like a hawk. He only stared back.

"Undian Loreius." She announced.

"Pleasure." Undian replied, his voice now more Cyrodillic than the Altmer it was before.

It was 150 years after the Oblivion Crisis, and the Thalmor party has taken over. Of course, it would have been great if Undian still believed in their ways.

But he's seen the truth.

"You have a choice now, Undian. Reject the foul notion of Talos and rejoin us," the head proposed, spitting at the name of the human god, "or continue on this foolhardy quest that would end in your own death."

Undian shrugged. He didn't care. He knew the truth. The Daedra identify that Tiber Septim rose to godhood, becoming Talos. The god of war gave him his blessing to kill Umaril forever. He was not going to reject the notion now that he's seen the truth to bigoted assholes like them.

"Come on, son. Reject and live with us like you used to." His father pressed.

"How can I reject the truth?" Undian asked.

"No mere human can rise to become a god. It is impossible." Another leader answered.

"We used Tiber Septim's very blood to help stop the Oblivion Crisis. If that didn't work, then all of us wouldn't be like this and the Crisis would've brought Nirn to the Deadlands." Undian responded.

His mother slammed her fist down upon the arm of her chair. "It can never happen!" She exclaimed.

"Then was defeating Umaril the Unfeathered was a miracle by Eight?! The reason I won was because of a Ninth! I used the very blessing of Talos to kill his spirit, the one Divine that Pelinal Whitestrake did NOT HAVE!" Undian exclaimed back.

His voice echoed in the next to empty and silent room. His parents' faces became darker.

_'Might be because of the lighting.'_ His mad half thought.

_'No, it is because of clashes of views.'_ His rational half countered.

"You are no son of ours." His mother growled.

Undian wasn't shocked. In fact, he smiled. "I will never be a son to a Thalmor ever again." He said back.

He walked over to the double oak doors and left.

"Seize the traitor!" The head of the Thalmor ordered.

Undian smile became bigger, almost to the point of madness. The two Thalmor guards reached for him, but Undian placed one hand on each soldier's shoulder and sent a powerful shock spell through his hands. They convulsed, their pupils going back into their heads and falling in a heap. Dead.

Undian ducked, a fireball flying past his shoulder. He quickly turned and slammed the doors shut. Another fireball hit the door and Undian smelt smoke on the other end. He turned back and ran as fast as he could. The alarm bell started to ring. All of the Thalmor soldiers must've been notified by now.

Undian grabbed his Imperial Dragon Helmet and Dawnfang, the sword he gained from the Shivering Isles. His entourage of Blades met him at the entrance and all had their swords out. When they exited the building, what must be close to an army surrounded the small group of Blades.

One Thalmor soldier, who Undian guessed was the leader judging by the cape, stepped forwards. She planted her greatsword into the ground to her left.

"Surrender and your deaths shall be quick!" She exclaimed.

_'Well, hello there. Wait! A new Altmer concubine! YES!'_ His mad half thought, laughing loudly.

_'Shut it! We have someone in the Isles. And you already go overboard there.'_ His rational half thought back.

_'Awww! You're no fun.'_

_'Now, let us concentrate on getting out of here.'_

_'Ooh. Wait! I have an idea!'_

_'Ugh. Here we go again.'_

Undian stepped forwards, his mind finished its little argument. "Tell your men to stand down and we will do so!" He yelled back.

"Never! Once more, surrender now and die quickly or fight and die a gruesome death!"

Undian's eyes changed from normal for Altmer to Sheogorath's. And, by doing so, his voice changed as well to suit his new identity. "You wouldn't do so, lassie! Altmer hate getting their hands dirty! Unless it's me, I love it!"

Undian threw Dawnfang tip first into the ground. He then casted a heavy Conjuration spell that summoned a battalion of Flesh Atronachs. His eyes changed back and he collapsed, his magicka severely drained from the spell.

He heard the sounds of battle of the Thalmor against the atronachs. Undian pulled his head up, seeing the carnage.

_'Hahaaa! Good idea or what?!'_

_'I have to admit it. That was a good idea.'_

_'See. Told ya.'_

With the Thalmor busy with the atronachs, the Blades made their escape. They ran through the city of Firsthold, cutting down any Thalmor that was stupid or brave enough to face them. They ran to the shoreline, where the ancient Auridon Marines stood ready to cut them down. Undaunted, the Blades rushed through them using spell and sword alike. They made an opening that they slipped through and continued towards their ship.

They made it to the docks and tried to allow the ship to begin sailing. But the ropes were tangled and couldn't allow the ship to sail back to the mainland.

One of the veteran Blades, the Captain, pointed to two Blades, one male and one female.

"You two! Stay onshore and get this ship to sail!" He ordered.

"Yes, Captain!" Both yelled back.

The Blades, excluding the two, ran up the gangplank and Undian burnt it to ashes. One Blade cut through the one at the ship's forward, but the other Blade was killed by the masses of Altmer that tried to deny their leaving.

"For the Emperor!" The Captain yelled and leapt off the ship.

He landed on the docks and cut a swath through the Altmer. The other Blade ran up and cut through the second rope at the ship's aft. The ship began to sail, but they were leaving them behind.

The horde of Altmer was too much for the two Blades, although they were extremely well trained. The water around the docks and the dock itself were soaked in blood, corpses of Altmer either floated or lay on the docks. Both Blades were dragged over to the shoreline and were made to kneel.

A familiar female Altmer walked up to them. There were three cuts across her face, her right eye now pure white and blinded. The cuts were bleeding heavily, but she still fought on.

She was given a greatsword from another soldier and held it with ease. The Captain felt a presence in the back of his mind. He knew of it. It was the Grandmaster using a spell which allowed him to see what another was seeing. He didn't fight it.

"What's your name?" The Captain asked.

"Why?" The leader asked back.

"I need to know the name of our executioner."

"Ardaulee." She answered.

She pulled her greatsword back and swung, taking off both of their heads in one powerful swing.

When the Captain died, the spell stopped in an instant. His neck was searing in pain, most likely what the Captain felt when he was beheaded. Undian's features became saddened. He didn't want something like this to happen, but he knew it would anyways.

_'The Thalmor are a threat to all of Tamriel. They must be stopped in their tracks.'_ He thought.

He stood and walked out on to the deck, being greeted by the remaining Blades that accompanied him to Summerset Isles, now Alinor, and the place that used to be home. The Shivering Isles was his home now.

"Blades!" Undian yelled. The Blades immediately gathered in a line on the deck, facing towards him.

He saw this once before. With Martin... and Jauffre.

_'Nine bless them.'_ He thought.

"Knight-Captain Avidicus, Knight-Sister Lalever and Knight-Brother Celaon are dead." Undian stated, a large degree of sadness in his voice.

If the Blades were able to show emotion now, they were doing a wonderful job at keeping it at bay. But they will weep later. Undian's trying to keep his own tears from falling.

"We are currently unable to retrieve their swords and give them their proper, respectful burial. But, in time, we will retrieve their remains and their swords." He continued.

He took another breath. "But the Thalmor are currently the biggest threat in all of Tamriel. We must focus our attention on them, as well as keeping our watch over the Emperor."

He looked over the Blades, seeing them still as stoic as before. He was dreading this part.

"You are dismissed." He concluded.

The wails of anguish soon erupted from the group. All manner of Blade, be them tough Nord or wiry Breton, cried over their fallen comrades that they trusted with their lives.

Undian walked back inside his quarters and stared out of the window.

_'My betrayal. Something of an inevitability, to be sure.'_ Undian thought.

He turned and picked up his old Thalmor amulet, its black surface broken by the gleaming gold.

_'Evil only painted in black and gold.'_ He thought.

He turned to the window once more, opened it a crack, and threw the amulet into the open waters.

_'I am Undian Loreius. Grandmaster of the Blades, and now eternal enemy of the Thalmor. I will never die, and my struggle against the Thalmor will last until all remnants of them are destroyed.'_


	16. The trek to Ivarstead (Haj-Jah)

**Pietersielie: Thanks for the praise. Sometimes, we all have to grow up. But, this time, looks like someone had a rather large reality check.**

**G'day! Now, after the answer to the review, I would like to thank those who are either reading this and not leaving reviews or reading this and leaving reviews. It's a good thing that I am doing and it is also good for others to help me or just reading this. I only want people to be happy. Don't need to leave a review though, just keep reading, don't worry and keep smiling in life.**

**Not the best chapter, but keep a clean slate please.**

Haj-Jah had gathered all of the necessary supplies for the trek. The salted foods, the water in the flask, the map, the bedroll and firewood. Calder, in his guard armour, was also coming along but only until the border of where Eastmarch meets The Rift. Only one person was down at the gate to say goodbye to him, and that was Wuunferth.

"Well, Haj-Jah. It seems our time is at an end." Wuunferth began.

"It has been a pleasure, Wuunferth. I must thank you." Haj-Jah responded.

"I'll recommend you go to the College at Winterhold. You have talent as a mage."

"Isn't it colder in Winterhold than in Windhelm?"

"No, Haj-Jah. It, in fact, is slightly warmer. And the company is a lot warmer than in Windhelm."

"Well, goodbye Wuunferth. I may see you at the College if I decide to join them."

With the goodbyes all said, Haj-Jah and Calder walked out of the gate and into the bitter cold of Eastmarch. They began to walk down the bridge, the stones providing slightly less than stable grip for the two. Haj-Jah was bumped into from behind from a man in a hood. No features were seen and he ran, being quick and sure on his feet. Haj-Jah finally felt a weight in his hands, a spell tome, Frost Salts and some Magicka potions were inside a pouch. A note was tucked into the spell tome, the phoenix emblazoned on the front cover. Haj-Jah took it out the note and unfolded it.

Sorry for the attempted theft. One thing I know best.

Dar'kar.

Haj-Jah looked up and saw a glimpse of a white tail with black accents underneath the dark cloak. But the Khajiit was too far away for the two to even hope to catch. He moved amongst the snow with a large degree of fluidity. And from Calder's reaction, he recognised the same things as well. And the guards that manned the bridge tried to chase after the Khajiit for what they thought was another attempted theft, only to lose him after a minute or two of the chase from the Khajiit moving east then back to south. Mainly them trying to get down the stairs.

Haj-Jah flipped the front cover open, reading the title.

Turn Lesser Undead.

He closed it, thinking that it should be useful later and placed it into the book bag with the Bound Sword and Lightning Bolt spell tomes. He had to find ways for them to be more efficient. They were too taxing on his body to be used effectively.

The two continued across the bridge, but replaced the bridge guards' theories with the truth. It was tough to make them believe, but Calder somehow managed to with a promise of mead or a great hunt on the bandits that threaten their Nord brethren. Maybe a promise of mead after the defeat of said bandits, Haj-Jah didn't know but it worked.

When they reached the end of the bridge and next to the stables. Haj-Jah looked at the two roads that split in front of him, both leading in different directions. He raised his left hand and casted the Clairvoyance spell, one he secretly learnt when he was still in Black Marsh. The trail of blue mist curved to the left and back to the south along a different path, going up the hill. However, when he stopped to check, Calder already began to go down that path.

Haj-Jah hurried to catch up, almost slipping in the snow and ice-covered stones. Both trod along the path in relative silence, only the odd elk making a mad dash past. It was clear, but only Calder knew that it would change in an instant (A/N: Ain't that true?). And true to that thought, a large snowstorm was upon them less than a minute later.

Haj-Jah cursed the Hist for making him cold-blooded. And how he envied Beekah on her gift of warm-blood.

In the storm, the light from the sun immediately turned to darkness. Both scurried quickly up the hill and spied a light coming from in front of them. It was small and just pierced the near darkness made by the snowstorm. They stumbled blindly towards it, finding it to be an inn and the light a lantern. They burst through the door and closed it behind them. Haj-Jah ran to a chair and pulled it along until he was sitting near the warmth of the fire when the door closed.

How he hated his cold blood.

The snow that clung to his robes melted and soaked through the cloth, making him slightly colder even in the warmth of the fire. He shuffled slightly closer to the fire, hoping that it would do some good. Haj-Jah heard quiet laughter in the corner, hoping that it was just a group and their jokes and not snickers about him.

Calder pulled up a chair beside Haj-Jah, a mead in his hand. He put the cork between his teeth and uncorked the bottle. He spat the cork into the fire and took a swig from the bottle.

"I only wonder what will happen at Ivarstead." Haj-Jah mused, staring into the fire.

"How so?" Calder questioned.

"To meet the sister I never knew? To help with something that may involve a lot of death? I don't want to know. I'm not a fighter." Haj-Jah answered.

Haj-Jah sighed and stared with boredom. Using the fire as a focus, he raised his hand and had a small flicker of a flame jump in it.

Haj-Jah looked out the small window that looked outside, seeing the snow battering against the window in vain attempts to get in.

'Nothing to do but wait.' Haj-Jah thought.

"We'll go to Darkwater Crossing first." Calder stated.

Haj-Jah snapped back out of his thoughts.

"What did you just say?" Haj-Jah asked.

"Go to Darkwater Crossing first. That settlement is still within Eastmarch and on the way to Ivarstead. We'll stop there." Calder explained.

Haj-Jah nodded. He didn't know of any other settlements inside Eastmarch, villages or mines either. So this was a welcome change.

"Say, you didn't tell me about yourself, Calder." Haj-Jah stated.

Calder finished taking his swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're correct, scaleskin." He said, using the term in a joking fashion. "I lived and grew up in Windhelm. My father was a guard, just like me, and my mother was a Companion. My father basically drilled into me to be fair to all races. I became a guard to follow the example he made to me." Calder explained.

"Slightly easier life than mine."

"You lived in your people's province. How was mine easier?"

"Outside of elven communities, people despise magic. I spent my entire life sheltered due to who I was. My mother was a dockworker in Lilmoth, probably still is, and my father is a woodworker in traditional Argonian craftsmanship."

Calder was nodding. He was unable to understand completely, since he was raised in traditional Nordic fashion.

"Rough start?" Calder asked.

"Too rough." Haj-Jah answered.

Calder scrunched his face up. He looked out the window, still seeing the snow bash against the glass.

"So..." He began, gaining the Argonian's attention.

"... What do you think your unknown sister would be like?" Calder asked.

"Hopefully, she is more caring towards magic than Beekah is. I think that this sister is connected to the Shadow, I cannot be sure. She cannot be an assassin, maybe just a seasoned adventurer with some skills in the art of concealment. I don't know." Haj-Jah hypothesised.

"Or she could just be an assassin." Calder responded with his own theory.

"Could be, since my family never talked about her." Haj-Jah said.

After constantly checking out the window or in light conversation for twenty minutes, they finally saw that the snowstorm had subsided. After Calder payed for his bottle, the two left for Darkwater Crossing.

By the time the sun set, they were roughly halfway to Darkwater Crossing. And that meant that they were in the muggiest part of Eastmarch.

To keep himself from overheating in the morning sun the next day, Haj-Jah removed his hood and unstrapped a few of the buckles that held his mage's robes closed. But even with those steps taken, he was still sweating enough to fill a pale. And Calder wasn't faring much better either. Having long removed the hide helmet he kept with him and the gossamer covering of his armour, even the Eastmarch native was sweating.

Suddenly, a robed and hooded Altmer leapt out of the hot pools, her attire soaking wet. She held a steel dagger in her right hand.

"Alright, hand over your valuables and nobody gets hurt." She threatened, holding her dagger as dangerously as she could.

Calder stepped forwards slightly, a dangerous leer in his eye. "Lass, put the toothpick away. And run along, as I am a guard of Eastmarch." He threatened back.

Instead of running like the Nord hoped, the Altmer laughed.

"Are you really? I don't think you are. Just hand your gold and valuables, and I can leave you alone." She responded.

Suddenly, Haj-Jah had someone leap and side-flip over him, a robe and hood covering their features. But a white and black tail was all the identification the two needed.

It was the Khajiit.

He landed perfectly and unsheathed his odd dagger in his left hand. The Altmer and Khajiit went into a stare down, their daggers poised to shank the other.

"Are you a common thief? Or a highway-woman?" The Khajiit asked, a Redguard accent to it.

"I am the best infiltrator in my organisation. This is also something I do on the side." The Altmer answered.

Calder unhooked his war axe and held it expertly. But there was no need.

The Khajiit and the Altmer were duelling with their daggers. It was really close combat and it was brutal. There was biting, punching, kicking and the obvious stab or slice. The Altmer jumped back and casted a spell. Invisibility, to be accurate. Footsteps that should be there weren't. The fizzled, humanoid-shaped air also wasn't there. It was like she completely disappeared.

The Khajiit kept looking around, breathing heavily. When he was sure that the Altmer thief was gone, he sheathed the dagger back inside his robe. He turned to see the two he saved, only to be met with an axe blade a centimetre away from the neck. He didn't do anything else other than raise his hands so that they were in plain sight.

"So, this is the thanks I get?" He asked, smiling a small bit.

"Your kind steals, Khajiit. How do I know that you won't steal anything from us right now?" Calder asked.

"I may be a thief, yes. But my father was a respected warrior in Hammerfell and taught me the concepts of honour. And I am an honest thief. Is this how you Nords repay someone who has saved your purse?" The Khajiit answered.

"Anyone can dress their intentions with honeyed words. You want me to treat you like an equal, only for you to rob me blind." Calder responded, his eyes leering into the Khajiit.

"I only need to get to Riverwood. For me saving you, I only ask that you point me in the right direction. As the Nine as my witness, I want you to tell me."

"Head west across the hot pools. Over the river as well. When you see a city in the middle of a plain, follow the roads south. When you see a small town along the road, you've arrived in Riverwood. There, done." Calder explained rather quickly.

The Khajiit tried to keep up, but couldn't. "Bah. Could you run it by me once more?" He asked.

Haj-Jah came up and unfurled his map. He spun to have the Khajiit to his left side and pointed to their rough location. The Khajiit held the other side with his right hand.

"Head west." He repeated, moving his clawed finger carefully across the parchment. The Khajiit nodded.

"When you see the city in the plains, begin to head south along the roads." Haj-Jah continued, moving the clawed finger south along the east of Whiterun.

"When you see the small town along the road, you've reached Riverwood." Haj-Jah completed.

The Khajiit nodded and stepped back a few steps. He bowed theatrically at the waist, his arms spread wide.

"Thank you, gentlemen. What a kind repayment." He said before running west along the hot pools, his cloak bellowing out behind him.

It was then that Calder felt his belt being slightly heavier. His axe was still in hand, but there was a black leather satchel tied around the belt. Curious, he opened it and saw that it was almost filled to the brim with gemstones that filled the colours of the rainbow.

He closed it. That damned Khajiit. Must've tied it onto him while he wasn't looking. But, it must've came from the Altmer's various robberies.

He turned to Haj-Jah, who now furled the map back up and put it away.

"I will begin to head back to Windhelm, Haj. Keep heading south along these roads and follow the signs to Ivarstead." Calder explained.

"But, we aren't at Darkwater Crossing yet." Haj-Jah argued.

"I know that we aren't specifically at Darkwater Crossing as of yet..." Calder said. He pointed to a small hut in the distance, a thin column of smoke rising from beside it. "But there it is."

Haj-Jah nodded.

"Thank you, Calder." The Argonian replied.

Calder smirked and began to head north once more, and Haj-Jah resumed his trek south.

**The next day:**

He's almost to Ivarstead now.

He could see the small town at the base of the mountains. The sounds of industry were slightly heard from this distance.

But something felt wrong to Haj-Jah. Like someone was watching him through the trees. He walked over to the edge of the bridge, seeing the town fully. But that's when they attacked.

A group of bandits sprung out of the trees, brandishing their weapons. Haj-Jah stumbled and ran away, not wanting to get into the fight.

But they blocked him off, encircled him, trapped and at their lack of mercy. But, the one closest to Ivarstead suddenly yelped quietly and collapsed forwards, a dagger lodged in their skull. Two Argonians leapt in, one in steel armour, wielding a battleaxe and the other in leather armour and holding two swords.

"Lydia, take him out of here!" The leather clad Argonian ordered.

A yank was felt on Haj-Jah's arm. He turned, revealing a Nord woman with black hair. He complied with her pulls and was taken to the relative safety of Ivarstead. The Nord woman, when she got him within the vicinity, drew her sword and ran back into the fray.

About five minutes later, the three women walked back into Ivarstead. That's when Haj-Jah realised that the Argonian in steel armour was Beekah. He smiled at the sight of her once more. But who was the other Argonian? But the Hist was flaring twice as much. That's when he realised that the other Saxhleel was the one from the odd dreams.

"Haj-Jah! You've made it!" Beekah exclaimed, dropping her battleaxe and embraced her younger brother in an almost crushing embrace.

"It's good to see you again, sister." Haj-Jah replied, keeping the soft smile on his lips.

Beekah almost forgot something, judging by her quick change in facial expression.

"Haj-Jah, meet your eldest sister, Witseva." Beekah introduced.

Haj-Jah looked at Witseva, seeing the differences between her and Beekah. Whereas Beekah was bulky, Witseva looked more fragile. But looks can deceive. She might be rather limber. Her scales were a few shades darker than Beekah's, and red highlights were over her eye-scales and down her neck. Witseva's eyes were a calculating shade of blue slits, and leaf-like hair was on the top part of her head.

Witseva bowed slightly and began to speak in Jel. While to others it would sound like a primitive language of pops and trills, to the three Saxhleel it was a sophisticated language.

_"You are the surprise brother I heard of. Nice to meet you."_

Witseva stood straight once more, finishing her greetings in their native tongue. Haj-Jah bowed his head.

_"And nice to meet you too, honoured sister. May the Hist always be on your side."_ He responded in Jel.

Witseva smiled softly, and the four went inside the local inn for a rest.

It will be a momentous day in the morrow.


	17. Scaling the Throat of the World

**Now, this chapter isn't the best written, but please don't hate me for this.**

**TheConeezeanEmp: It seems that you are yet another that likes Haj-Jah. It's good to see that you relate to him. And don't worry about the punctuation. I could still read it, yet find hilarity in it. No offence given. And you are yet another nerd, since I have a friend that is one and I am a bit of a nerd myself. And to answer your question, (SPOILER ALERT!) yes, he is going to go to the College. But... there will be a sacrifice.**

**Time for the call. **

**NERDS FOREVER!**

Witseva was now waking up to the Ivarstead sunrise. She loathed this day's coming yesterday, as she would have to climb the 7,000 Steps up to High Hrothgar, and to acquaint herself with her mage brother. It wasn't like she hated mages, it was because that she felt ashamed of her past actions and that he would hate for being an assassin.

Should she hide it from him, or tell him and await judgement?

She got changed, strapping a dagger to her hip, and got out of the rented room. She saw Haj-Jah sitting at a bench, his mage's hood covering the majority of his face. A plate of food was sitting in front of him, a tankard in his hands. Only the end of his mouth was seen. Witseva walked silently over and sat down next to him. She waited until he lifted up his tankard to his mouth before she spoke.

"A 'good morning' would've been nice." She remarked.

"AHHH!" Haj-Jah yelled, flinging the tankard at the wooden wall opposite him. Water stained the wood when it hit it. He held his chest, breathing heavily. "By the Hist, Witseva. Why did you do that?"

Witseva smiled, but to most who doesn't know Argonian anatomy saw this as a beastly grimace. "Just to see how you'd react. And I must say, it was worth it."

"Well, it was terrible."

Haj-Jah went back to eating the food on his plate, earning stares of disgust whenever he took a bite of the meat. A slam was heard, which everyone looked towards. Beekah staggered out of her rented room, her face scrunched up in pain. Her hand kept massaging her head, a part that was close to one of her horns.

"Had too much to drink, Beekah?" Haj-Jah asked, if a bit too loudly.

"Could you quiet down a bit, Haj? That hurt." Beekah replied.

Witseva winked at Haj-Jah, who saw the look of mirth in her eyes. He smiled, but was mostly hidden by the hood.

"How does it feel, sister?" Witseva asked, being loud on purpose.

"Like a bandit with a war hammer is hitting the insides of my skull. And not so loud, Witseva. It would hurt more."

Haj-Jah and Witseva nodded at each other. Together, they turned to Beekah, who now covered the sides of her head with her hands. They took a deep breath in.

"Do you need some help?!" Both yelled.

Beekah, even with her hands blocking out some noise, still had her face scrunch up in pain. Haj-Jah and Witseva both burst out in laughter, clutching their diaphragms while doing so.

"You two are sadistic." Beekah grumbled, sitting down in between them.

"You wouldn't have us any other way, would you?" Haj-Jah asked.

Beekah stopped, her face was one of ponder. She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't."

Witseva leant over to Beekah. "Except me. You would change most things about me." Witseva whispered.

Beekah stopped, shocked by the statement. She turned to Witseva. "That may be true, but you're my sister. I forgave you for that kill those many years ago."

"You didn't talk to me for months."

"It's because the King was corrupt and the person you killed was innocent in many ways. But, you had to do it."

Witseva looked to Haj-Jah, who wasn't paying attention to them. She turned back to Beekah. "I never told you why I had to go to Skyrim, didn't I?"

Beekah shook her head.

"I killed the King of Argonia."

Beekah smiled, unable to believe it. But the reason why, she was unable to comprehend.

"Your look says it all. He was planning an ill-gotten campaign against the Khajiit. I killed him before he got the chance and stole the decree that said so."

Beekah was shocked at why their old King would do that and Witseva's ability to read people. But Witseva stopped a campaign that could've ended with their people's annihilation.

They ate in silence, the other patrons looking nervous at the three different Argonians. Lydia was standing aside, keeping watch over her Thane, but couldn't help but wonder if her Thane really was just an adventurer or something more. She also reminded herself to keep away from the youngest Argonian, lest magic were to corrupt him and he would kill everyone.

Haj-Jah stood up first, having finished way before the other two. Beekah tried to follow suit, but she collapsed slightly and gasped, clutching the table. Haj-Jah rushed over and helped Beekah stand.

"I told you to take it easy, egg-sister." Haj-Jah reminded.

Witseva was puzzled, wanting to know why but didn't preach. Beekah kept going, using the table as support. She walked back inter her rented room and closed the door. Witseva did the same thing, leaving Haj-Jah inside the main room of the inn. She focused on equipping her armour and weapons for now, but always kept a small part of her attention to her surroundings however small they were.

Witseva quickly sat down next to Haj-Jah, who was reading a spell tome on binding Familiars to this Plane temporarily. Beekah opened her door, her heavy armoured form covering the doorway. The butt of the steel battleaxe was planted on the floor. When she was out of the doorway, she picked the axe with ease and sheathed it over her shoulder. Witseva tapped Haj-Jah's shoulder, gaining his attention. The female Saxhleel motioned her head for them to be able to leave. Haj-Jah stood and placed the book carefully into the pouch on his shoulder strap. All three of them left the inn and stepped out into the cold Skyrim landscape, Lydia following closely.

They turned to the left, towards the bridge that starts the climb to High Hrothgar. Stares came from the guards all the way down to the bridge. Little did any of them notice the unknown figure that snuck behind the inn when they had their backs to it.

"Going up the 7000 Steps again, Klimmek?"

The four stopped, listening in on the conversation. A Bosmer was sitting up on the bridge rail, now easily making eye contact with the Nord in front of him.

The Nord sighed, his shoulders sagging. He shook his head. "Not today. I'm just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The pass isn't safe."

The Bosmer looked at him with a look of questionable motives. "Weren't the Greybeards expecting some supplies?"

"Honestly, I'm not certain. I'm yet to be allowed into the monastery." The Nord looked up the mountain with what must be a dreamy look in his eyes.

The Bosmer smiled and shook his own head, looking at the ground. He placed his hands down beside him and vaulted off of the rail, walking off and leaving the Nord to his dreams. Witseva walked up to the Nord, who was still looking up the mountain.

"Excuse me." Witseva began, gaining the Nord's attention. "What was this about a delivery?"

"Ah, you must be on your way up to High Hrothgar. Yes, I climb the mountain to give the Greybeards some supplies. You know, like dried fish and salted meats. Something that lasts a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning."

He handed a small leather pouch to Witseva, which was full of the provisions he mentioned.

"Anything that we should watch out for?" She asked, tying the pouch to her belt.

"Usually a wolf or a pack. But be careful still." The Nord warned, walking away to the river to their left.

Witseva looked at the base of the mountain and began to rethink this path of life that she's taking. She felt that Beekah and Haj-Jah were looking up as well, thinking about the actual amount of steps.

"So... Who's counting?" Haj-Jah asked.

"Since you asked, you are counting, Haj-Jah." Beekah quipped.

"Xuth." Haj-Jah hissed under his breath.

And so they started to trek upwards.

Teineeja was hiding in the ruins of a cottage at the base of the mountain. An obvious home of a beggar and squatter.

Teineeja told the rest of the group of Shadowscales to go back to Black Marsh. While extremely unsure of his decision, they identified him as the de facto leader of them and followed his instruction.

He read the contents of the parchment before handing it over to the rest of the group to send to their superiors. The King of Argonia's seal, indicating a royal document. But the plan to invade Elsweyr would've spelt the end of Argonia and the Hist, no matter where they escaped to. Technically, Witseva betrayed them yet saved them at the same time.

By the Hist, they were in a dilemma.

Teineeja thought about it for a moment. Should he help Witseva, unconditionally and despite orders? Should he harm them only for orders to leave them be later? Help them then kill them when the order comes?

He looked over the mountain where Witseva and her group began to scale. Should he follow them? Should he just allow the slopes to kill them during their climb?

'I should. After all, what use is me going up to kill her if they die up on the slopes?' Teineeja thought.

He removed himself from the broken house and began to scale the steps after them, hoping to catch up before they reach the top.

"'Ey, Haj-Jah! How many steps have we scaled?" Witseva asked.

The Argonian mage looked like he was about to fall over. He was breathing raggedly. "I do not know. I lost count quite a number of steps back." He stated in between a series of breaths.

"By Sithis, Haj-Jah! You were meant to be keeping count!" Beekah exclaimed.

"Well, I am sorry, Beekah. But I do not have the large stamina that any of you have." He breathed out.

Witseva and Beekah looked at each other and shrugged. Lydia, wary of magic, kept her distance away from Haj-Jah.

"We'll take a break a few more steps up. There seems to be a plateau there." Witseva stated.

Haj-Jah sighed and trudged his way up the last few steps. When they made it to the plateau, he seemingly collapsed in a heap. Beekah and Lydia also sat down, sitting the opposite side of Haj-Jah. Witseva sat alongside her newly-discovered brother. And she only hoped to gain more knowledge about him while keeping her backstory a secret.

He wouldn't trust her otherwise.

But she felt that someone was watching them. Following them. She raised a hand for them to be quiet, which was lucky none of them were talking quite yet. They heard impacts on the weathered stones of the 7000 Steps. Witseva held the hilt of her Ancient Nordic sword lightly, just in case it was someone dangerous.

A sight of sea blue scales and an Elven bow caused her to attack.

But Teineeja never retaliated, never took his dagger out or took his bow off his back. He just dodged every attack made.

He grabbed ahold of Witseva right wrist and shoved her sword into the ground. He then moved around and restrained Witseva by getting her into a chokehold. Tight enough to restrain, light enough to not choke.

Witseva struggled against Teineeja's hold. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting. "Why are you here, Teineeja? Here to kill all of us, are you?" She asked, grunting with exertion from trying to escape.

"No, Witseva. At least, not until orders come in." He replied.

Witseva kept struggling, not believing it. "As if the Shadowscale heads would believe the words of one such as me and you. They only believe the words of the King!"

"And his decrees. But they aren't stupid, only loyal to an extent. Same as you are to your family and friends." He said, glancing up at the group in front of them.

Witseva's sister had her battleaxe out, holding it threateningly. Same with Witseva's Housecarl, holding her steel sword with the tip pointing straight at his heart and glinting in the sun. And the mage that is accompanying them, his hands filled with arcane fire but more hesitant in using it.

"You never gave the parchment back to me! That was proof of my reason to kill him!" Witseva yelled.

"And I sent it back with Ushus to give it to the leaders!" Teineeja yelled back.

Witseva stopped struggling, shocked with Teineeja's actions. When she stopped struggling, Teineeja let go and stepped back. It was then that Beekah rushed forwards and tackled him, pinning Teineeja to the snow with her weight and battleaxe. And he didn't resist it, just allowed himself to be knocked down.

Witseva stood and walked into Teineeja's vision, the corner of it. "The orders that they would give you? Would you do it?" She asked.

"It depends. If they give the order to kill you, I will. But if they forgive you and tell me, then I will still accompany you. The orders will matter, Witseva. They just won't be here for some time." Teineeja replied.

Witseva moved Beekah out of the way and helped Teineeja up. "Do not take this as friendship. Until the order comes in, we are accomplices. Nothing more or less." She said, before walking back and sitting down upon the snow once more.

Her sister blocked his way towards them. "I know you are Witseva's sister. I just want to know your name first to keep this short." Teineeja said, hands in the air in peace.

"Beekah. And don't talk to me again." She replied, sheathing her battleaxe across her back.

He walked up and tried to sit down, only to be blocked by the protector. A female Nord of fair looks and young age. How she came to be a seasoned warrior would be anyone's guess. She was glaring holes at him. The Argonian mage was jumpy at every move Teineeja made, obviously seeing how quickly he incapacitated Witseva. And speaking of the ex-Shadowscale, she was always keeping Teineeja in her blue-eyed sight, her hand hovering over Lifeleech...

'When did she get that back? She didn't have it when we fought before.' Teineeja thought. But his mind flashed back to

They waited for five more minutes, by then they all were well rested. They stood, each keeping Teineeja in their sight one way or another. Except Witseva, she lead the group.

They continued up the mountain, but they stopped before a narrow path in the mountain. Stone faces, so smooth that even their claws couldn't help them climb and too high that they wouldn't be able to, were on either side. At the top of one stood a troll, its hair as white as the snow around it.

The wind changed direction, to the way that they were facing. That meant that their combined scents wafted towards the troll, which achieved its attention from its three-eyed stare. It leapt down from its perch, making a dent in the snow, and roared at them.

Teineeja and Witseva both pulled out their bows, nocking an arrow in each. Beekah and Lydia pulled their weapons out and Haj-Jah started to shuffle backwards.

"Haj, help us out here!" Beekah yelled, although the battle hasn't started yet.

Haj-Jah only kept shuffling away, but at a slower rate.

"Don't trolls have an aversion to fire?" Haj-Jah asked, stopping to reply and only continuing when he finished.

"Good. We'll attack it after you shower it in flames, Haj-Jah. Then the battle will be no problem." Beekah said.

She hefted the battleaxe in one hand and roared her own challenge. She gripped it in two hands once more. The troll accepted the challenge, roaring in response, and began to lumber its way towards the group of five. When it was close enough, it swung one of its arms side and down in an arc. Beekah and Lydia moved back, they were waiting for a chance. Witseva and Teineeja both shot their arrows, but they just bounced off the hide. The fire from Haj-Jah never came. Instead, the Argonian mage was cowering away from the melee. And they couldn't blame him too much.

"Haj-Jah! Use the spell now!" Witseva yelled, firing another arrow only for it to bounce off the hide.

Beekah's battleaxe bit into the arm of the troll slightly, but the Argonian Companion was knocked away with the other arm. Lydia kept her shield up, her sword pointing at the troll's heart. The battleaxe was pulled out by the troll, and the wound closed itself almost immediately. Another arm was swung, narrowly missing Lydia. She stabbed at the troll's side. The tip penetrated, but when it was pulled back out the wound closed up.

"Come on, Haj! Get into it!" Beekah yelled, picking her battleaxe once more and charging straight back into the fray.

But the Argonian mage still cowered, trying to block out the conflict. And it made the others wonder how he managed to get to Ivarstead in the first place.

Teineeja fired yet another arrow, but saw Haj-Jah cowering. Running over to him, Teineeja knelt down and roughly shook him.

"I can't do it." Haj-Jah said.

"If you can't, all of us would die. Help us, and we will live." Teineeja responded.

Somehow, it gave the mage the courage necessary to fight. He held flames in his left hand. He sent a steady stream of fire right at the troll, its fur catching alight. With the troll now burning, Lydia and Beekah now began to push on the offensive. They opened up a wound right across the heart, which never begun to heal. Teineeja nodded to Witseva, who nodded back. Teineeja nocked another arrow and fired, sending the arrow right into the wound and straight into the heart of the beast. With one final roar, it fell backwards, now dead in the snow.

The fighters of the group, those that were really close to the troll, began to breathe heavily, trying to make the adrenaline leave their systems. Witseva and Teineeja walked around the path to collect their arrows, inspecting them when they picked them up. Any that were able to be used again, they placed back into their quivers. If not, they were thrown down the mountainside. Haj-Jah, the unpleasant mix of smells of burnt troll hair and blood getting to him, threw up onto the snow.

With the rest standing once more, they continued up the slopes. The youngest Argonian in the group was tired, his breathing quick and always forming fog in front of him when he did breathe.

"Beekah, how are the Companions for you?" Haj-Jah asked, breaking the silence.

"A whole lot better than the An-Xileel army, that's for damn sure." Beekah responded quite harshly, probably due to Teineeja being close by. Said Shadowscale's eyes almost popped out of their sockets at her answer.

"And speaking of them, why did you leave?" Witseva piped up.

"They were Sithis-forsaken assholes who cared only for our King's benefit. Instigating another small war with the Dunmer. Dishonourable fucks." Beekah replied, her anger rising.

Witseva and Haj-Jah moved away from Beekah slightly. They would most likely feel it in the Hist within their blood. It somehow has that effect. Either fortunately or unfortunately, Teineeja couldn't experience the feeling. Living alone on the streets tended to do that with no family. But, then again, the Shadowscales were family enough.

Another twenty minutes of climbing up the slopes in either silence of the group or light conversation, a sight befell the group. A fortress was situated on the slopes of the mountain, made of weathered brown stone that still stood proudly against the wind and snow.

"Is this it?" Witseva asked.

"Must be." Beekah responded.

They climbed the first set of stairs, where a chest sat defiant against the wind. Offerings of gold and flowers were placed around the chest. Witseva untied the supply bag and placed it within the chest.

'This is where a story begins. Not sure if I would like it, though.' Witseva thought, almost pulling herself up the last set of steps and through the door.

They have made it to High Hrothgar and now ready to fulfil the destiny that was prophesied long ago.


End file.
